


so what about these feelings i've got

by magnetichearts



Category: Never Have I Ever (TV)
Genre: Angst, Banter, Bathroom Sex, Bickering, Car Sex, Cunnilingus, Desk Sex, Developing Relationship, Drunken Confessions, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional bonding, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Floor Sex, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, Grief/Mourning, Hand & Finger Kink, Jealousy, Light Bondage, Love Confessions, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Phone Sex, Pining, Post-Canon, Prom, Sexual Tension, Shower Sex, Slow Burn, Slow Dancing, Smut, Tags will be updated as new chapters are posted, Teasing, Underage Drinking, Unresolved Sexual Tension that gets Very Resolved, Wall Sex, extremely slow burn even tho they're sleeping together lol, if you don't want that fam that is ok, it's not an nhie fic without devi being in emotional denial, yeah so this has......a lot of sex, zero word count control™️
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:21:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 243,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24744511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magnetichearts/pseuds/magnetichearts
Summary: “No strings?” he repeats.She shakes her head. “No. We meet, we fuck, we leave. That’s it.”Ben smirks at her. “Sure you can stop yourself from falling for me?”Devi rolls her eyes. “I’m sure I’ll manage.”or; ben and devi start sleeping together their senior year. it all sort of spirals from there(title from “i couldn’t be more in love” by the 1975)
Relationships: Ben Gross/Devi Vishwakumar
Comments: 265
Kudos: 646





	1. act i: don’t pretend that you don’t want me

**Author's Note:**

> hi guys!!! so um. yeah, this is my life now, a constant obsession with ben and devi and basically everything about them. this was supposed to be a 5+1 fic but then the idea grew and grew and grew until it could absolutely not be contained. so, i decided to write it out as a multichapter fic. everything is completely outlined and plotted, i just need to actually _write_ it, although considering i've written 90k for these two in the past month, i don't foresee any problems with that. 
> 
> major, major, major thanks to [rose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/peterpan_in_neverland/pseuds/peterpan_in_neverland) (@logynnrose on tumblr), who gave me so many of the plot points in this fic and essentially encouraged me to develop it into a slow burn multichapter au, and [leila](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flashlightinacave/pseuds/flashlightinacave), (@montygreen on tumblr) who helped immensely with the dialogue. you guys are my biggest cheerleaders and i **cannot** tell you how thankful i am to you both. 
> 
> warning: this fic features sex. a lot of it. if that's not your thing, that's totally fine, but i just wanted to let you guys know. the rating MAY change as the fic takes place, but i'm hoping to stick to a hard M. i make no promises, but that's my goal. ben and devi just have lots of really nerdy sex throughout this asdfghjkl so. yeah that's literally it. 
> 
> this is a SLOW BURN. yes, they are sleeping together, but this is a slow burn emotionally and the story will heavily feature that aspect of their relationship. it will span the whole length of senior year. i had absolutely no control while writing the first chapter, which was supposed to be ~5k and ended up being three times that length, but i hope you guys liked it! i sat down and outlined everything in one night, and i cannot tell you all how excited i am to write this. :)))
> 
> i listened to rose's amazing [ben/devi](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/751evBU1RTDv9YD3o08jUL?si=DmWX7kXgTs2f95QHdgBoKQ) playlist while writing this, and all of the chapter titles are pulled from songs in the playlist. thank you rose!
> 
> (chapter title from “water under the bridge” by adele)
> 
> k thank you guys, enjoy!!!!

The first time she sleeps with Ben Gross, she’s just aced a math test, and she’s been ditched by her two best friends. 

It’s the afterparty for homecoming, hosted at Trent’s house (he attends the state school nearby and somehow, his parents never care about him throwing ragers all the time) where there are _plenty_ of college students. 

Devi sees this as the ideal opportunity. After breaking up with Paxton when he got a swimming scholarship to UCLA—she just didn’t want to deal with long distance and frankly, they had both grown out of their relationship at that point—she’s looking for a way to relax, to enjoy her senior year. Maybe there’s a cute college guy she can make out with, or something here.

That’s not to mean that she’s totally letting up, after all. She’s still got Ben Gross to crush (she _will_ be valedictorian) and Princeton to get into. 

After Paxton and her had broken up at the end of last year, which, now that she thinks on it, is actually really fucking hilarious, _her_ breaking up with _Paxton Hall-Yoshida,_ she’s spent more of her time with her friends and her family. Her and Paxton—they’d had a lot of fun together, and she thinks she did love him, but not in a heart stopping, romantic, consuming way. She’d loved him the way you love an old sweater or a favorite mug, something to look on with fondness. 

And their breakup had been amicable, easy, and so she really has no regrets when it comes to the two of them. By the end of their relationship, it felt more like a friendship, for all they kissed and cuddled and did romantic things, and she knows that he had felt the same way too. It was easy to end it—probably easier than it should have been, for a two year relationship—but it’s over now, and it’s what it is. 

Devi thinks that she and Paxton—they’re destined to be great friends. They were better friends than anything else, and she loves him for being there when she needed someone, but—where they ended, it’s good. 

But, right now, she’s got a red solo cup in her hand, she’s drinking some _truly_ disgusting beer because that’s what you do at high school parties, and she’s trying to unwind. Seriously, getting her transcripts together and making sure that everything was _perfect_ for her early action (not early decision, unlike Ben, she can’t afford that shit) application’s stressing her out. But here she doesn’t have to think about that. 

She runs her finger around the rim of her cup, trying not to feel incredibly bored. Play rehearsals had already started and of _course_ Eleanor had gotten the lead, so she’d bowed out of attending the party, claiming that “all stars need their beauty rest for _every_ performance, Devi,” and Fab had a date with Eve. 

So it’s just her, ridiculously bored at this party with drunk teenagers. 

Devi knocks back the rest of her beer and groans, pressing her hand to her head. “Why did I do this?” she mutters. She _hates_ these parties, and she always ends up getting herself into a bad situation with them.

Devi drags herself into the kitchen and drops her cup into the trash. Suddenly, she _really_ needs to pee, and she heads to the bathroom, only to find it occupied. 

“Fuck,” she mutters. She glances around the house and spots the set of stairs. She’s well aware the only people who go up the stairs at parties are the ones who are looking to have some sex, and—well, she’s done that before, with Paxton. She can’t judge, but she doesn’t want to run into anyone going at it. But, she really _does_ need to pee. 

And it’s not like she’s going up with anyone. 

So Devi pushes her hair out of her face and heads up the stairs, dodging giggling couples and drunk guys all the while. 

Quickly locating the bathroom, she uses it before washing her hands, running her hands through her hair and trying to clean it up. She scrunches her nose at the sight of her eyes in the mirror. 

God damn, she looks exhausted. And—this is probably a bad idea, but sue her—there’s no way anyone’s going to want to hook up with her when she looks like this. 

“Damn,” she mumbles. Sex was a great way to relieve stress. It just sucked that there’s _no_ way she’s going to find someone sober enough to get her off. College guys like to pretend they are a lot better at sex than they actually are. Devi has yet to find someone more reliable than herself. 

Devi unlocks the bathroom door, and crashes into the person passing by. She looks up to apologize when it dies on her lips, staring into the entirely too blue eyes of Ben Gross. 

His gaze hardens the instant he looks at her, and she feels that familiar pang in her stomach before she forces it down. 

Her and Ben, on the other hand, that’s—that’s complicated, to say the least. Their relationship status can’t be summed up in a few words, because—fuck, that’s a can of worms she does _not_ want to open. 

Whatever the fuck happened in sophomore year—that she does not _ever, ever_ let herself think about, is dead and gone, put behind them. Her and Ben, they’re the same as they’ve always been, fighting in history class, competing to be the best, pushing each other’s buttons. It’s how they work. Not in any other way. 

But, sometimes— 

No. Devi shakes those thoughts out of her mind and focuses back on Ben, who’s scowling at her. “Have a sense of direction, won’t you?” he snaps.

She sneers at him, crossing her arms. “You’re telling me? I’m not the one lumbering around with a blank look on my face.” 

“What the fuck are you even talking about, David? I don’t lumber.” 

“Right, sorry. That’s reserved for people who are, you know, _tall._ I meant prancing around.” 

Ben glares at her. “Height jokes? Come on, David, have a little more creativity.” 

Devi snickers. “What, now you _want_ me to insult you? Didn’t know that was your kink, Gross.” 

“I don’t _want_ you to insult me, but you can do better than _that._ Mocking me about my height is just pathetic, even for you.” 

Devi’s spine stiffens. “If you want to see pathetic, Ben, just look in the mirror.” 

“Trust me, David, unlike you, I don’t have the face that inspired _Shrek.”_

“That insult doesn’t even work!” she points out. “I was born _after_ that movie came out!” 

Ben rolls his eyes. “As much as sitting here, listening to you hopelessly try to defend yourself is fun, I _do_ have better things to do with my night.” He ducks around her and into a bedroom, and Devi, unable to let anything go, follows him. She glances around and sees that it’s a guest bedroom, with a few coats on the bed. Ben’s rifling through the meager pile for his own when he turns back to see Devi. 

“What better things do you have to do, Gross? In the ten years I’ve known you, you’ve never once had anything resembling a social life.”

Ben crosses his arms, arching an eyebrow. “What are you even doing here? Shouldn’t you be in New Jersey, begging Princeton to accept you?” 

Devi flips him off. “Funny, thought that was your plan, to suck Yale’s dick.” 

Ben barks out a laugh. “Oh, trust me, Devi, I don’t need to beg anyone for anything.” 

She tosses her hair over her shoulder. “Except for me to go easy on you.” 

He smirks at her, a challenge in his eyes, and Devi feels a coil of heat stir in her stomach. There's something about sparring with Ben that was far more enjoyable than it had any right to be, and Devi kind of hates how she likes pushing his buttons because the way he reacts, pupils darkening and jaw clenching, sends a thrill down her spine she doesn’t really want to psychoanalyze. 

“Please, David. If there’s one of us who’s done more begging, it’s you.” 

“Ugh, gross, Gross. I don’t need to hear to details of your sex life.” 

“Oh wow,” he chuckles. “Someone’s got her mind in the gutter.” 

“At least I have a mind,” she fires back. She leans against the door and crosses one leg over the other, enjoying the way his gaze drifts down to her legs. “Hey, Ben, my eyes are up here.” 

He drags his eyes from her legs, but instead of flushing like she’d expected him to, he just fucking smirks, and she can’t decide if she wants to slap that smirk off his face or put that mouth to good use. 

“And what do you know about sex anyways? Aren’t you a virgin?” Devi smirks. 

Ben crosses his arms. “What makes you think that?” 

“Your utter lack of girlfriends since Shira broke up with you at the beginning of sophomore year, for one,” she says. 

“Who needs a girlfriend to have sex?” 

“Getting yourself off doesn’t count, Gross.” 

Ben splutters for a second, and Devi relishes in the warmth of victory. He recovers depressingly easy though, and steps forward. “Well,” he says, tilting his head, “it’s not like I’d sleep with anyone at our school.” 

She rolls her eyes. “You couldn’t get a college girl if you _tried,_ Ben.” 

“How would you know that?” 

“Cause I know you. You’re not that good.” 

“Look, Devi, I know we’ve known each other for a while, but I don’t think we know each other _that_ well.” He smiles at her, all smug and proud. “But I get it if you want me. Most girls can’t resist.” 

“Please. All they’d have to do is take one look at your face and they’d run screaming.” 

“Regardless of what you think, I am not a virgin. We don’t go to the only high school in the country, you know. I just don’t date anyone I sleep with.” 

She can’t help it, she burst out laughing. “You’re telling me _Ben Gross_ has had a one night stand?” 

“Why is that so unbelievable?” 

Devi smirks. “You’re _you._ You wouldn’t know the first thing about having a one night stand if it smacked you in the face.” 

“I’ll have you know, I’m extremely well versed in having a one night stand.” 

“Ugh, please tell me you’re not disease ridden.” 

“Considering you’ve slept with Paxton, who’s slept with half of SoCal, I’m pretty sure this is the pot calling the kettle black.” 

Devi scoffs at him. “You jealous, Gross?” 

Ben smirks at her. “Do you want me to be?” 

“Oh, I think I’m gonna be sick.” She presses a hand to her mouth and glares at him, and yet, the thrumming in her veins says the exact opposite. Why was sparring with Ben, trading barbs laden with innuendo, more exciting than the last _year_ of her and Paxton’s relationship? Why did this make her feel more alive, more on fire, than any time she had touched or kissed Paxton? What was it about Ben that set her on fire?

(for a second malibu—)

No. She is _not_ going there. 

Devi pushes all other thoughts from her mind and cocks her hip. She’s got her bouts of insecurity, as does everyone, but she’s a little tipsy right now and she’s well aware the red tank top and black leather skirt she’s got on make her look damn good. And, well, she knows Ben finds her hot. She’s not _blind._ She’s seen his eyes tracing her legs when she’s worn skirts to school before. She’s got to use what she’s got. 

“You _wish_ you were with someone like me, Gross. You couldn’t handle me.” 

Ben coughs. “Is that a challenge?” 

“I know you think I’m hot. I’d rock your world.” 

Ben’s face flushes, but the expression on it doesn’t change one bit. “It’s not like you weren’t always staring at me during history class in sophomore year either.” 

Devi Vishwakumar does _not_ flush, she does not, but she does feel a bit of heat rise to her cheeks as she thinks about sophomore year. She can’t help it! He’d started to fill out his shirts and gotten broad shoulders that year, and so what if she had wanted to run her hands along the length of his forearm and trace the muscle she sometimes saw when he picked up his backpack?

Physical attraction doesn’t mean anything, and Devi knows that all too well. 

“The point still stands. I’d rock your world.” 

“Do you have to say it like that?” he says, his nose scrunching up. “It sounds like a line from a stupid 80’s song.” 

“You’re not denying it, are you?” 

Ben’s gaze darkens, and his tongue darts out to wet his lips. She doesn’t— _doesn’t_ —let her gaze linger, but he catches her eyes as they flicker down anyways. 

“Well, I won’t deny that if you won’t deny that I’d do the same to you.” 

She stares at him in shock. “Are you—propositioning me?” 

For the first time since they started this little tête-à-tête, she’s a little shocked and unsure how to deal with this situation. Devi’s not—she expects a certain level of fighting with Ben, but what they’ve been doing lately, that’s not fighting, that’s more like _flirting._

And the worst part is, she _likes_ it. 

He shrugs, looking a little uncertain. “I mean—not—no?” 

“Then what are you doing?” 

“Offering, I guess. Come on, David, you’re not stupid. You know, sex is a great way to relieve stress and release endorphins. When you think about it, I’d really be doing the world a public service,” he laughs. “Maybe you’d be a bit more relaxed and stop biting everyone’s head off.” 

“You think you could actually get me off?” 

Ben cocks his head to the side, eyes running over her in a way that makes her feel like she’s under a microscope, His gaze isn’t predatory, nothing so horrifyingly masculine as that, but there’s something heavier there, like he’s picking apart all her defenses one by one as he scans her head to toe, like he’s studying her so that he knows the best ways to make her fall apart.

“Yeah, pretty sure of that.” 

She tosses her hair over her shoulder, putting on a veneer of confidence. Devi hadn’t expected him to say _that._ There’s something unnerving (and ridiculously hot, her mind adds) about this side of Ben, a side she’s never seen before but suddenly wants to know everything about.

She snorts, though, not letting him see how stupidly turned on she is and resisting the urge to press her thighs together, lest he catch her. “Yeah, and what moves do you have? Calling your butler—sorry, house manager—about the stock exchange?” 

Ben steps closer, and suddenly, he’s barely a foot away. “No, I think I’ve got something better than that.” 

Devi’s heart pounds in her chest, and god, she wants so badly to drag him closer by the collar of his name brand shirt and make him eat his words, but—she won’t. 

Because this is _insane._ This is _Ben Gross._ He isn’t making her heart pound or her head spin like this, sending heady tingles running through her veins. He can’t.

“I still don’t think you have any worth showing me. Or any that could actually get me off.” 

Before she can blink, though, Ben’s in front of her, hands on her hips, pressing her into the door with his own body, and _damn._ “Wanna bet?” 

Devi knows her attempts at being chill are shot now, now that the heat of his fingers bleeds through the thin material of her shirt and her heart is beating so loud she’s sure he can hear it, but she grapples for the last vestiges of her sanity anyways. 

She smirks at him, his mouth barely an inch away from hers. “What do I get if I win?” 

Ben laughs. “You win either way, David.” 

“Prove it.” 

Instantly, she knows she’s said the right thing, because then his head dips down and he covers her mouth with his and—

_Fuck,_ Devi suddenly knows what all those romance novels and movies are talking about. She’d written them off before, because she’d never felt anything like that kissing Paxton, but dear god, she didn’t know a kiss could be like this. 

Her throat rumbles as a moan bleeds from her mouth, and she wants to be embarrassed because this is _Ben,_ for god’s sakes, but honestly, she can’t think of anything else right now. 

He’s pressing her into the door with his hips and the friction is too good, too addicting, and he kisses her _hard,_ not like she’s some soft, delicate thing, and while the softer part of Devi wants him to kiss her like that, the horny, very much frustrated part of her is far more appreciative of the way his lips moves against hers. His lips are a firebrand, sizzling, heating her skin up and she needs more, _now._

She fumbles around behind her and manages to locate the lock on the door, locking it with a decisive _click_ and making sure they’re not interrupted, before turning her attention back to him. 

He slants his mouth over hers _harder,_ and she wants to faint, melt into a puddle of goo right then and there. It deepens the kiss and his tongue sweeps into her mouth, dancing with hers in a way that makes her weak at the knees, and if it weren’t for the fact that she’s pressed up against the door, she knows she would have collapsed to the floor. 

Devi curls her hands into that stupid shirt of his—not caring that it’ll wrinkle—and pulls him impossibly closer. She gasps in pain against his mouth when he stumbles forward and presses her hip into the door handle, but then his hand is rubbing circles into her skin, under her shirt, and she can’t think about anything but the fact that they’re both wearing way too many clothes. 

He seems to have no qualms about kissing the breath from her lungs, from making her head spin with such potent passion that she’s surprised the air between them doesn’t crackle like it does before lightning strikes. Because that’s what his lips on hers feel like: a lightning bolt striking her. 

Her head spins and she needs to breathe, and Ben, always knowing what she needs before she does, pulls away from her and starts nipping at her neck. 

She blinks at the ceiling, gasping, trying to process what’s going on. This is _not_ happening. Her nemesis does not have her pinned up against the door with his mouth on her neck and his hands at her waist. _She_ does not have her hands fisted in his shirt to pull him closer. 

And good lord, it does _not_ feel as good as it does. 

Whatever meager thoughts she’s managed to drum up in the few moments of clarity she’s been given vanishes when Ben scrapes his teeth down the column of her throat, and the groan that falls from her lips is embarrassing, to say the least. 

She’s sure that he’s going to comment on it when he pulls away from her neck, and she locks eyes with him. Her chest is heaving and so is his, and his pupils are blown wide, just like hers. Devi braces herself for the inevitable quip that’s to come, but instead Ben just threads his hands through her hair and mutters, “Fuck, that’s hot.” 

Devi’s eyes drag over his face, lips swollen—she did that—face flushed, barely a ring of dark, dark blue around his eyes, and she snaps. 

She shoves Ben off of her, and for a second, hurt flashes over his face until she pushes him towards the bed. “Go,” she says, unable to come up with anything else. 

He stumbles back. “What?” 

“I said, prove it, Gross. Never thought you were one to back down from a challenge.” 

Understanding flashes in his eyes and he smirks, reaching a hand out and wrapping it around her waist. He moves backwards, pulling her along with him so suddenly she falls forward as he sits down.

In a move shockingly smooth and completely unprecedented for him, he catches her by the waist and hoists her up, legs slotting around his back so she’s straddling him. She ignores the fact that she’s wearing a skirt and the rough material of his jeans is scraping the inside of her thigh and instead focuses on his face, which is looking up at her like she’s the only thing in the world. 

Fuck, too many emotions for her. 

She bends down and presses her lips against his once more, scraping her nails at his waist, and he responds instantly, tongue slipping past her lips like they’d never stopped kissing. His hand grapples at the bed and pushes the rest of the coats onto the floor, and then comes up to thread itself through her hair, thumb stroking the line of her cheek.

Devi reaches one hand up and cups his jaw, kissing him harder, as if his kiss can drive the memories plaguing her mind with its sheer force. She doesn’t think about the fact that he’s only gotten better, that he’s only made her more hungry for his touch, she doesn’t. 

(his kisses have changed (although not much) from malibu and—)

His fingers trace patterns along the length of her legs, and her skirt has ridden up from the fact that she’s straddling him, when his thumb slips and presses against a spot just a few inches away from her hip. She moans into his mouth, shocked he’d be so bold, but not questioning it. 

Ben pulls away, running his hand down the edge of her face. 

“Devi,” he gasps, and she feels pride stir in her at the thought that she made his voice sound like that, that she made him lose control. “Are you sure?” 

She arches an eyebrow and slowly, carefully, rolls her hips into his. He gasps, dropping his head so his forehead presses against her collarbone. “I’d say so, wouldn’t I?” 

“It’s just—” he says, speaking against her skin, “you—you’ve never mentioned this before.” 

She rolls her eyes. “Oh, shut up Gross. You were actually right, for once, ok? I need some stress relief.” 

He smirks, finally dragging his eyes up to meet hers. “So you’re just using me?” 

“It’s not like you’re not doing the same to me.” 

The smirk slips off his face as he looks up at her, tucking an ebony curl behind her ear. “Are you absolutely sure about this?” 

“Ben,” Devi says. “I’m going to find someone else if you keep asking.” 

Ben scowls at that. “You think you can find someone else to make you feel this good?” As if to punctuate his statement, his hand on the small of her back tightens, pulling her closer into him, and her moan is cut off with a gasp when he bites down on her neck. 

“I—I think you’ve got a lot to prove,” she stammers out, ignoring the way her skin feels too tight for her body, how her body is thrumming for him, specifically, for no one else. 

He hums, “Fair enough.” His hands slip under her shirt, tracing circles along her back. “So, do you want to do this, or should I?” He grins cheekily up at her, and her eyes narrow. 

Who the fuck does he think he is, having the power in this situation? She has the power, not him. Her!

So she does the only thing she knows will shut him up. She takes her shirt off. 

Devi’s not like, an expert in undressing herself, but suddenly she’s grateful for the wrap red tank top she’d chosen to wear tonight (maybe because all it took to come off was tugging at the knot in the exact center of the shirt) because the way Ben is gaping at her right now makes her feel like she’s a goddess. 

“Fuck, Devi,” he groans. He leans forward and runs his hands around her skin, which pebbles in the wake of his touch, and he leans forward, pressing a kiss to the skin just under her collarbone. “You’re playing dirty.” 

She smirks. “How might that be?” 

She knows, of course. She loves the way she looks in red, and she’s been complimented on it too many times for her to think she looks anything less than amazing in it. So, if the red bra she’s wearing is doing it for Ben, well, that’s not _her_ fault, is it? 

She leans forward, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “Do you like me in this?” 

Ben’s fingers tighten on her waist, and he clutches her so hard she thinks bruises will be left on her skin come morning. It’s answer enough for her. 

“I’d like it better off you,” he says back, and damn, it’s a _terrible_ line. She’d hate it if it wasn’t actually _working_ for her. 

“I mean, I’m topless and you’re not,” she says. “I don’t think that’s very fair, is it?” 

He rolls his eyes. “And you’re all about equality, are you?” 

She shrugs. “If you’re going to ogle me, then I feel like I should be allowed to do the same to you, right?” 

He stares at her silently before removing his hands from her waist—and she does _not_ miss them, she does not—and pulling his shirt off, curling his hand around the back of the collar. It’s fucking attractive for no reason, other than it’s him doing it, and she can’t help but bite her lip as he tosses it into the corner of the room. 

It’s ridiculous because like—she’s dated Paxton Hall-Yoshida, for two fucking _years,_ she’d ogled his bare chest for like, ever before that, and he was a swimmer, so she’s seen Paxton’s chest a million times, and yet, it doesn’t—it never made her feel like _this._

She’s seen shirtless guys before, it’s the fucking 21st century and she’d had a boyfriend for two years, but there’s something different about Ben. His skin is smooth, and as she runs her fingers over it, incredibly soft. Devi bites her tongue, focusing on that instead of the desire to roll her eyes. He probably fucking moisturizes, better than her. 

He’s not built like Paxton, cut, and with muscles that seem unreal, but there’s an undeniably firm stretch to his muscles and lines that she wants to trace her hands down, the way his shoulders ripple when he moves his arms that she wants to watch. 

Devi runs her hand down the slope of his shoulders, like she has wanted to for years, and trails her fingers up his neck, running it along the cut of his jaw, before she finally looks him in the eyes again. Blue, a blue she doesn’t think she can ever properly replicate in her memories, a shade of blue she’s never seen before in her life. 

There’s something very intimate about the way Ben is looking at her right now. Not soft, that’s not quite the right word. It’s more, open, like he’s letting her take the lead, letting her take the reins. And it’s the first time she’s been allowed to do that. When she was dating Paxton, he always took the lead, he was always in control, and while he never made her do anything she didn’t want to do, she never told _him_ what she wanted either. 

Devi settles her hands on his shoulders hesitantly, and he shifts underneath her. The muscle ripples under her fingers, and she resists the urge to press her fingers more tightly into it to see just how his shoulders move.

“Devi,” he says, drawing her attention back to his face. “We can stop any time you want.” 

She shakes her head. “No, I don’t want to stop.” 

Devi leans down and presses her lips to Ben’s, and before she knows it, his hands have come up and undone her bra, shrugging it gently off her shoulders. But—fuck, he’s too gentle, too trusting, and she can’t handle that. She needs _fire,_ needs physical connection without emotions, and so she bites at his lip and shoves her hand down his pants, trying to get him to understand. 

He always does, and flips them over, pressing her into the covers of the bed. His hands change instantly, from gentle and trusting to hard and needy, and she keens as one curls around the edge of her skirt and pulls it off. His hand slips under the edge of her panties and she lifts her hips up, unconsciously, as he tugs them off. Ben smirks into her skin. “Who’s eating their words now, David?” 

She raises her head up from the bed to glare at him. “Are you this annoying even in bed?” 

He raises an eyebrow. “If you notice how annoying I am, I’m clearly not doing my job.” 

“What job would that be?” she mutters, mostly to herself. “Bothering girls until they take pity on—oh!” 

The last word she was meaning to say breaks off as Ben slips his fingers into her, and she arches her back, shamelessly chasing that small piece of euphoria she’d been granted before he stilled. He smirks down at her, and she’d slap him if she were able to focus on anything other than his hands. 

“What was that, Devi?” 

“I am going to kill you,” she breathes, “if you don’t start moving soon.” 

It’s an empty threat, mostly because Devi does _not_ feel like getting herself off tonight, but thankfully, Ben obliges. He twists his fingers as he thrusts them into her, and she doesn’t want to be that girl who clutches at the bed sheets while having sex but. It _does_ feel that good. Good lord, she wishes she were able to think about anything other than his hands on her right now. His other hand reaches up and palms her breast, and she bites her tongue to stop from moaning.

Ben twists his hand and presses his thumb _exactly_ where she needs and she gasps, her eyes slipping closed. “Ben,” she groans. “What the fuck?” 

She wishes she could see his face right now, but opening her eyes—even that feels like a Herculean task.

“Come on, David,” he mutters, and Devi kind of wishes she hated the nickname more than she does, because the way he says it is fond and rolls off his tongue, like honey. “Tell me what you want.” 

Her heart stops in her chest—well, not literally, because she’s not dead—but it certainly feels like that. Since when did _she_ get to be the one in control? Since when was it _her_ first? 

“What?” she gasps, sounding far more breathless than she’d like to when Ben’s other hand sweeps down her body and rubs a circle into her hip. 

She manages to open her eyes to find him looking down on her, expression dark and hooded. “Tell me exactly how to make you feel good, Devi.” 

_Shit,_ why the _fuck_ is that so incredibly hot? Maybe it’s just the side of her that likes dictating things to people and being bossy, but right now she'd be hard-pressed to find anything more attractive than her telling Ben exactly how to get her off. And him actually _following_ her instructions. 

“Um,” she says, trying to get her bearings. “Move a bit faster.” 

He speeds up, although not much, and smirks. “That good?” 

She digs her fingers into his arms, causing him to yelp in pain. “Faster, idiot.” 

“You’re going to have to be more specific than that, Devi. I want to hear you say _exactly_ what you want from me.” His voice rumbles in her ear, low, and that’s literally fucking unfair, because he sounds so good, and she just wants to hear him like that for the rest of her life. 

“Oh, god,” she groans. She tips her head back and racks her brain, trying to string together coherent sentences. “Right—right _there!_ And—and move faster! Harder, come on, Ben.” 

He quirks an eyebrow at her, but, thankfully, doesn’t torture her anymore, pushing his fingers in and out of her faster, and she climbs the precipice with staggering speed. When he presses his fingers in the exact right spot, thumb flicking over her center, she falls apart around him, ecstasy settling in her skin. 

She comes down from her orgasm and breathes. “Fine,” she concedes. “You are kind of ok at that.” 

“Ok?” Good god, he sounds _offended._ Of course he would. “Just ok?” 

Devi raises herself up on her elbows shamelessly, glaring at him. “What do you want me to say? You rocked my world?” 

He groans. “Ugh, please, no. I still hate that.” 

She lets her eyes drag over every inch of him, still in his jeans, but shoulders shifting in a way that makes her want to sigh and melt into him as he leans forward. “Because you haven’t.” 

It’s a cocky challenge on her part, but—sue her. She wants to feel him. 

What she didn’t expect about sleeping with Ben was that she knows how to push his buttons, and he knows how to push hers. So, she knows _he_ knows that when he drags his eyes down her very naked body, it sends a thrill down her back, but, she also knows _exactly_ how to get him to break, and she’s going to use that. 

“You really want to go that far?” 

“I thought you had moves, Gross.” 

Finally, he snaps, surging forwards, and when he kisses her, it’s all teeth and messy, lips sliding haphazardly over hers, catching awkwardly. It’s _perfect._

She kisses him back just as hastily, fingers fumbling with the snap of his jeans—probably designer, fucking knowing him—until he can kick them off the bed. He settles himself between her thighs, _still_ kissing her, like he can’t get enough of her, no matter what. 

She throws an arm over his neck and kisses him harder. His hands map out her body like he’s trying to memorize her based on touch alone, and it’s all she can do to _not_ groan into his mouth. 

Ben might be annoying, but hell, he knows how to use his mouth and his hands. That’s more than Devi can say for most people. 

But she’s not here to make out with him—however fun that is. She wants to get off, and then she wants to leave. 

She curls a leg around his waist and pulls away from his lips, sucking a mark into _his_ collarbone for a change. “Do you have a condom?” she asks, dragging her teeth against his skin. 

“Of course I do, David. Gotta be safe.” 

“Ew, please. It’s not like you’re getting a lot of it.” 

“You know you’re literally underneath me, right now, right?” 

“I’m suffering from a momentary bout of insanity, that’s all,” she mutters, before slamming their lips together again. 

She indulges herself in the feeling of kissing him for a few more seconds, no more, before pulling away and shoving him off of her. “Go get it.” 

He furrows his eyebrows. “You don’t—want any more?” 

Devi stares at him. “Ben. I want you to get me off, and then I want to go home before my mom realizes I snuck out and kills me.” 

“Can we just not talk about your mom when you’re about to have sex with me? She terrifies me.” 

Devi can’t help it, throwing her head back and laughing. “Good. She should. Now, shoo.” 

“So bossy,” he mutters, moving off of her to rifle through his jeans and pull out his wallet. He grabs it and opens it, pulling the foil packet out of it.

“How long has that been in there? Cause I read that like, condoms in wallets actually degrade the quality of the condom and I’m not getting some disgusting venereal disease from _you,_ of all people.” 

Ben rolls his eyes. “I put it there tonight, ok, David?” 

“A little presumptuous, aren’t we?” 

“I mean, we’re here, so.” 

“God, you’re like a fucking Boy Scout,” she groans. “Always be prepared.” 

“Well, David, when you’re like me, hot girls usually want to sleep with you, so—”

She grabs the condom out of his hand and rips it open. “Are we gonna do this or not, Gross?” 

“Oh, we are definitely doing this.” He reaches for the condom, but she holds it out of reach and smirks. 

“I want to.” 

Ben groans, tipping his head forward. “I swear, you’re going to kill me, Devi.” 

“Can you wait until after you fuck me to die? That way at least I get off.” 

She rolls the condom onto him and he leans down to kiss her, and it’s too fucking much, too gentle and soft, so she slips her tongue into his mouth to try and push some heat back, to try and shove these emotions out of the picture. 

One of his stupidly skilled hands glides—she hates that word—down her body and hooks her leg over his waist, and damn, this should really _not_ feel as good as it does, but. It’s like all their years of arguing has built them up to this, tangled limbs and swollen lips. 

When he slides into her it’s a bit awkward at first. He’s still kissing her and so their teeth clash together, and when she jerks away in pain she catches him in the nose with her head, and he swears, eyes watering. But then she runs her hands over the curve of his cheek and his eyes bore into hers, and then he pulls out and thrusts back in, and it’s like everything clicks. 

Devi tries not to react audibly, she does, but she can’t help it. Between him moving in and out of her, his hands running across every inch of available skin, and his mouth sucking another—another!—purple mark into her skin, it’s like every inch of her body is occupied with Ben, with what he’s doing. 

“You are stupidly beautiful,” he mutters, nipping at her throat. 

“What?” she breathes, trying to keep her eyes from rolling back into her head. 

Ben wraps her other leg around his back, so her ankles cross at the small of his back. “Fuck,” he groans, into her skin, and she can tell he’s close by the way his breath puffs into her skin.

She’s close as well, and the worst part of this is that she was _wrong,_ cause having sex with Ben—well, it was quickly becoming the best sex she’d ever had. Granted, her sample size is, like, 5, but after this, she was renegotiating her stance on taking any more samples at _all._

Ben pulls his mouth away from her neck and looks her in the eyes, and it’s crazy intense, so much so that she kinda wants to die. 

His eyes never leave hers as he pulls out and thrusts back in, and with her legs wrapped around his waist it’s a whole new, deeper, intense angle and she can’t help but moan, fingernails digging into his back. “Oh, _God.”_

He smirks. “Do you finally believe me about my moves?” 

“Not the fucking time, Ben,” she grinds out, nails carving down his back. Devi hates that she’s turned into this kind of girl, the kind of girl who sneaks into bedrooms at parties and has somewhat drunk—although at this point she’s barely tipsy, if anything—sex with a guy who goes to her school. 

And it’s not just _any_ guy, it’s Ben, and it’s too much for her to take, really. They have more history than Ancient Rome and it’s like, it shouldn’t feel this good but it does and even as she gets closer and closer to tipping over the edge Devi _knows_ she’s going to need to do this again.

He slides a hand under her thigh and pulls it higher up, and her breath catches in her throat when he thrusts back into her. “Come _on,_ Ben.” 

Fuck, she wants to come. Partially because she _needs_ to, but also because she knows he wants to get her off before he does, and she wants to watch him fall apart, wants to bask in the knowledge that she made him lose control.

“Devi,” he says, and god, she wants to start this all over again just to hear him say her name like that, like it’s the only word she knows. _“Devi.”_

“I’m—I’m close,” she gasps, and then he’s winding a hand down her body to press against her center and she comes undone. 

It’s an explosion, something more intense than any orgasm she’s had before, and she can’t help it if her nails score down his back harshly. Her thighs shake from where they are around his waist. Even as she’s swept up in the euphoria, she feels him lose control inside of her, and he groans into her skin, fingers tightening on her waist so hard she knows there will be finger shaped bruises come morning. And yet, the pain is something she likes. 

Her nails grapple for purchase on his back, and she heaves lungfuls of air into her chest, which is burning. His neck is covered in a thin sheen of sweat, and she’s pretty sure she scratched at him hard enough to make him bleed.

She buries her face into his neck and tastes salt on his skin, and satisfaction runs through her. She did that. She had sex with Ben Gross in a strange bedroom in a house where there was a rager going on, and she _liked_ it. 

More than that, she wants to do it again. 

She doesn’t think about that, though, and thankfully, Ben pushes himself off of her a moment later. She winces as he slips out of her, but doesn’t let herself consider the implications of what they’ve just done. 

Fuck, this was probably a bad decision. But it was a hell of a bad choice. 

Devi sits up and runs her hand through her hair, ignoring Ben as he slips into the adjoining bathroom that’s attached to the bedroom. The second he disappears behind the door, she rockets off the bed and pulls her clothes on, fumbling with her bra for a moment. She’s struggling with hooking it on when she feels Ben’s hands come and hook it together for her. 

Damn, she was hoping to be able to leave the room before he came out, but no such luck. 

Devi closes her eyes and breathes out before spinning and facing him. He stands in front of her, wearing only his boxers, eyebrow cocked. “Were you trying to run out on me?” 

“No,” she says, like a liar. 

Ben rolls his eyes and bends down, grabbing his jeans and tugging them on. “You know, you don’t always have to run away from me.” 

Devi freezes. He can’t—he’s not talking about what she _thinks_ he’s talking about, right?

(because after what had happened in the car on the cliff, she wasn’t the one who had run away, she was—) 

She was _not_ thinking about that. “Congrats, Gross,” she snaps, focusing on that instead of the nerves that are steadily rising in her stomach, tugging on her shirt and tying it up again. “You’ve successfully made things awkward.” 

He rolls his eyes as he pulls on his shirt, and her eyes are drawn to the dark, purple spot blooming at his collarbone, just visible under the collar of the shirt. She _remembers_ leaving that spot, holy _fuck._ Beyond that, she wants to leave another one. 

She brushes past him and wraps her hand around the door handle, determined to forget that this ever happened. 

Never mind the fact that it had been really, _really_ good sex. Like, so good she wanted to pin him to the bed and have a lot more of it. Never mind that she was already aching for the brush of his skin against hers. Because it couldn’t ever happen again. It just couldn’t. 

“Well,” he says. “Did I prove it?” 

“What?” she asks, turning around in confusion. 

He smiles, and the gesture is shockingly sweet, not at all smug like she thought it would be. 

Devi might not want to be around Ben any more than is strictly necessary (well, after what they just did, that might change as well, but that’s neither here nor there) but he has a _gorgeous_ smile. She remembers the first time she’d seen it directed at her in full force, at the Model UN trip to Davis, back in the beginning of sophomore year, a time she decidedly does _not_ think about. 

But that doesn’t deny that his smile has this dizzying effect on her, drowns out the rest of the world and makes her blood pump in her ears. She wouldn’t have put it past Ben to have made a deal with the devil, or something, trading his soul for the most beautiful smile she’s ever seen. 

“You bet that I couldn’t get you off, which I did, twice,” he adds, ignoring the flush that crawls up her skin as he says so, “and you wanted me to prove I had a few good moves. Did I?” 

Devi smirks. “Didn’t know you were that desperate for validation, Gross.” 

“Oh no, I’m not desperate for it. I think the nail scratches down my back speak for themselves. I just wanted to hear you _say_ it.” 

She scoffs, twisting the door handle and opening the door, still facing him. “That’s never happening.” 

“That’s disappointing. After all I gave you, you can’t give me this one thing?” He shrugs. “I thought you were nicer than that, Devi.” 

“Unless I’m mistaken, you came too, idiot.” 

He shoves his hands in his pockets, looking infuriatingly calm. How can he look so calm after what just happened? “Two to one.”

“And it was a good one.” 

Ben concedes the point with a tilt of his head. “Fair enough. So, this was a one time thing? We never speak of it again?” 

“Duh.” 

“Unless of course, you want more.” 

“I won’t.” The second the words slip out of her mouth, she knows Ben is going to take them as a challenge, but the worst part, she wants him to do that. 

His eyes darken then, and before she can even think, he’s striding towards her and pulling her back into the room, slamming the door shut and pushing her up against it as he kisses her. 

It’s the exact inverse of the kiss that started it all, but no less hungry, no less needy. He kisses her hard, _punishing,_ as if to remind her what they did, how he made her feel. 

As if she could ever even hope to forget. She kisses him back just as greedily, savoring his mouth on hers for what seems like will be the last time. Even as the thought crosses her mind, she knows it won’t be. She can’t go the rest of her life with never kissing him again. 

He kisses her like she alone can drive away whatever demons are plaguing him, as if she alone is all he ever needs, and the desperation there for her to understand what he’s trying to say through his kiss wraps around her heart and almost chokes her. But she pushes that side of her thoughts away and focuses on him, his hands on her body, the way they are pressed against each other. 

His hand slides down, curling around her waist and her skin is on fire, tingling in the wake of his touch, and Ben must have some sort of magic, some drug on his hands, to make her feel like she’s alight. His fingers dig into the slope of her waist, and he pulls her to him as he steps forward, crushing her against him. It’s almost like he wants to fuse them together, keep them locked in this embrace. 

Devi would be irritated if she wasn’t just as desperate to touch him. Desire boils in her, hot and leaving her aching, and despite the fact that he’d just made her come she wants more. 

Ben pulls away from her and drags his teeth over her jaw, and she tips her head back, ignoring the dull pain that throbs as she hits it against the door. His hand reaches up and gently brushes her hair aside, and without thinking, she tilts her head, letting him reach more skin. 

He drags his teeth gently over the triangle of skin where her jaw and neck meet, just below her ear, before sucking on it hard, hard enough that she keens and tightens her grip on his arms. She gasps out his name and he moans against her skin, sending vibrations through her. 

This can’t—this is _not_ happening. Devi does not have her heart pounding so viciously in her chest she’s ready to go again with Ben. It’s not. It drives her insane and logic is on its way out the door. She’s about to forget everything she just promised herself. 

Thankfully, or not, depending on how one sees it, Ben moves away from her then. Her body reacts primally to his, her fingers tightening on his arms so he can’t pull away from her entirely. It’s like, she’s a fire and he’s oxygen, fueling her flames, but at the same time, she’s consuming him, and she wonders when she’ll use him all up, and then die out herself. 

She needs him to breathe, and yet, at the same time, he makes her lose her breath. There’s a staggering amount of irony packed into that idea that she does not want to touch, at all, so she focuses on something else: the touch of Ben’s nose against her neck. 

“Well,” he huffs, against her skin. “Tell me now that you don’t want any more.” 

The fucking _hunger_ raging through her body stops short. It doesn’t vanish, because Devi doesn’t think anything but fucking him again will make it go away, but it freezes in her gut.

She gapes at him. He’d gotten exactly what he wanted, a reaction from her that proved she wants more, that she’s not quite finished. 

She’s angry, she is, but more than that, she wants to beat him at his own game. 

She leans forward and kisses him, biting his lower lip before sucking it between her own, and he lets out a surprised moan before melting back into her. 

This is _dangerous._ Devi can handle sex and hands roaming and clothes being tossed in the corner of the room, but kissing—kissing is dangerous and crosses a bunch of lines she’s carefully maintained. 

At least, kissing Ben does. 

Ben kisses her like she is the only thing in the world left that matters, as if he can’t get enough of her, and she kisses him back in the same way. 

Because she _can’t._ She can’t get enough of him. But this—this is too much. 

She tears her mouth away from him and shoves him off of her. “This can’t happen again,” she gasps, shaking her head. “One time thing.” 

Ben frowns at her. “I know.” 

“We can’t do this again,” she repeats, and she’s not sure if she’s trying to convince him or her of that fact.

“I know.” 

“Are you going to say anything else than that?” she snaps. 

“What do you want me to say?” 

She scoffs in disgust. “Whatever.” 

“Devi,” he says. She turns to look at him, barely able to meet him in those blue, blue eyes. He smirks, and some part of her gut settles. Smirking, cocky, arrogant Ben she can handle. “Thanks for tonight.” 

She flips him off, slamming the door shut behind her, ignoring the coil of desire in her stomach that reminds her, yes, she really _does_ want more, and she wants it now. And that he’s right there and nothing’s really stopping them, except her. But Devi’s nothing if not good at ignoring her feelings, so she suppresses them, shoves them down and resolves never to even _think_ about sleeping with Ben Gross again.

* * *

That’s something that proves a lot easier said than done. 

It’s been three days since she slept with Ben, and she _can’t stop thinking about it._

It would help if she didn’t see him all the time, she thinks, but because he’s—somewhat—smart, they have the vast majority of their classes together, and so she sees him more often than not. 

And it’s terrible, because she literally can’t stop thinking about the night of homecoming. Especially his hands. God, it’s like a fucking disease, or something. He’ll say something, and all she can think about is how badly she wants to kiss him. He’ll shrug his backpack on, and all she wants to do is run her hands over his shoulders once more. He’ll twirl a pencil around his fingers and it’s all she can do _not_ to blush fiercely in the middle of class when she thinks about how he made her fall apart with his hands. 

Sometimes, she’ll even stare at his back (he sits just a seat ahead of her and to her right) and wish for X-ray vision so that she can see the scratches she _knows_ she left on his back. She hopes they hurt, not because she wants to cause him any pain, but because she wants him to remember who left them there. 

It’s getting ridiculous, frankly. There’s a sort of possessive monster that has been carved out ever since Ben touched her for the first time, kissed her and made her fall apart under him, and the monster is _hungry._

Devi mostly just wants to die, but she can’t because all she can think about is how much she wants Ben to kiss her. 

It’s gotten so bad she’s starting to have _dreams_ about it. Like, real, honest to god, sex dreams! She hasn’t had a sex dream since the one about Paxton in sophomore year, and even then, they’d been interrupted before they’d gotten to the good part. She thought she might have started having them _after_ she and Paxton started dating, but, no luck. 

But now, she’s had them for the past few days, reliably. And it’s even more fucking terrible because her brain is taking all her memories, and uses them to paint an even more vivid picture. She wakes up in the morning feeling like she wants to rip her skin off for some relief, because she _needs_ him. 

Even now, she rolls over on her side and groans into her pillow. Last night had been another dream, again, starring Ben, but this time instead of a rehash of homecoming, this time they’re in the fucking _school,_ of all places, and she’s sitting on top of her desk and his head is up her skirt and—

Devi smacks her head against her pillow. “No,” she says. “You are not having any more sex dreams about Ben Gross. It’s not happening.” 

Devi drags herself out of bed and catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror, the hem of her shirt having ridden up in the night to expose a band of skin about two inches wide around her waist. She runs her fingers over her hips gently. Unlike the marks Ben had left on her neck—she curses him in her mind for forcing her to basically cover her entire neck in concealer—the fingerprints he had left on her waist haven’t been covered up. She can barely admit to herself that she doesn’t want to cover them up. 

But now, the dark, purpled bruises are fading away, yellowing, and Devi knows it’s just a matter of time until they fade completely away. 

The thought bothers her far more than she’s willing to admit. 

She grumbles and shoves her shirt down, covering up the marks, and gets ready for school quickly, dragging a brush through her hair and letting it spill over her shoulders—seriously, fuck Ben for forcing her to wear her hair down for the past few days—and pulling on a pair of jeans that she knows makes her legs look fantastic. If she wears them because she’s hoping Ben’s eyes will fall on her legs, well, that’s no one’s business but hers, is it?

Devi grabs her keys and leaves, shooting a text to her mom—who’s already left for work—that she’s on her way to school. Ever since Kamala got married last year, it’s been just her and her mom, which should have been a recipe for disaster, but things have improved vastly after her father’s birthday her sophomore year. 

(in all ways possible, that day had been a turning point for her, a moment that changed her trajectory, and she tries very hard not to think about how everything changed, his mouth on hers—)

Devi shoves those thoughts out of her mind as she slams the front door behind her, and she sets off to school, tapping absently on her phone the whole way there. 

She meets up with Eleanor and Fabiola, jokes as if everything is normal, and heads to AP Euro, her first class of the day. She’s early, one of the first few students, and she pulls out the reading they had to do last night as homework. 

She ignores as the rest of the students file into the room, until the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She glances up involuntarily, and her stomach clenches in desire when she looks right into Ben’s eyes. 

He’s not even trying to hide the way his eyes scan her shamelessly, and shit, Devi wants to accost him right then and there. 

Because this is the first time _he’s_ looked at _her_ since homecoming. She’d stolen her fair share of glances, of course, unable to keep her eyes off of him, but considering she sits behind him, she can do it a lot more surreptitiously than he. 

But there’s nothing secretive in the way Ben’s gaze drags over her now, and damn it, he can’t look at her like this, because she can’t be held accountable for her actions if he continues to do so. 

She swallows dryly and ducks her head, ignoring the way her heart beats. She can feel his gaze on hers, like a heavy weight, but she stubbornly keeps her head down until Shapiro starts the class. 

“So,” Shapiro says, crossing his legs in front of him. “Here’s an SAT prep word, except most of you have already taken those and we all know the College Board is a—you know what? Never mind. Bonus points in the form of an _awesome_ cake my partner baked if anyone can tell me what event it was in which, upon hearing, King Wenceslas IV of Bohemia died in shock of? Supposedly, of course. We’re going to be doing a project on weirdest events in European history, and this is one of the choices, so pay attention, people. Murder is not on fleek.” 

“The Second Defenestration of Prague,” Ben says. “The judge, burgomeister, and several town council members were defenestrated—thrown out of a window—due to the growing discontent as a result of the contemporary direction of the church and the widening inequality between the peasants, the nobility, and the Church’s prelates.” 

“It’s actually the First Defenestration of Prague,” Devi corrects. Ben swivels around to look at her as she answers, and she tries not to blush at the feeling of his eyes on her. “The second was over 60 years later, in 1483.” 

“How many times did someone defenestrate someone else in Prague?” A voice in the back of the classroom asks. 

“Three,” Ben and Devi answer, simultaneously. 

She snorts, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “Do you even know what the third one is about? You know, considering you mixed up the first two.” 

Ben scowls at her. “Of course I do, David.” 

“I don’t expect you to be able to hold much in that tiny brain of yours.” 

He glares at her. “At least I have more brain cells than you. How many do you have, 2?” 

She gasps. “Wow, look at that, it counts! Didn’t know you could go that high!” 

“Guys!” Shapiro barks. “Detention, after school. God, just when I was thinking I could have a year without you two screaming. Why can’t you guys just get along? Seriously, no one cares.” 

Devi shoots Ben a dark glare. “Nice going. You got us detention.” 

“Oh _I_ got us detention? You started it!” 

“Well, I can’t be expected to sit here and listen to your _obviously_ incorrect answers. That’s like, an abuse of human rights.” 

“Oh, like listening to you talk isn’t?” he sneers back. 

“You two!” Shapiro says. “Shut _up._ God, I’m just putting on a BBC documentary,” he mutters. “Tomorrow, we start our projects.” 

Devi shoots Ben another dark glare and turns her attention back to the class, ignoring the way her heart picks up at the thought of spending even _more_ time with him. 

* * *

Devi refuses to look at Ben as she steps into Shapiro’s classroom for detention later that day. She had lied to her mom—look, they have a much better relationship, but she still doesn’t want to die—about where she was going to be after school, claiming she was staying at the library to study, and she’s hoping this doesn’t take much time. 

“I can’t believe you did this to us, David,” he mutters. 

Devi feels her temper rising, like it always does when it comes to Ben, and she whips her head up to look at him. “Fuck you,” she sneers. 

“You already did that,” he scowls back. 

Devi’s body temperature rockets up at the mention of their—she doesn’t even know what to call it, a tryst?—that happened at homecoming. Aside from looking at her like...that, in history class, Ben had given no indication he even remembered it. 

Her gaze falls to his hands, so fucking attractive. All she can think about are those hands, smoothing over her body, inside her, and damn it, where the fuck is Shapiro? 

“Where the hell is the teacher?” she snaps. What the hell is _happening_ to her, getting turned on at the memory of his hands?

Ben shrugs, his eyes falling to Shapiro’s desk, where a piece of paper with words scrawled on it lies. He picks it up. “He’s got an emergency therapy session with his cat,” he says, reading off the sheet, “and he wants us to stack the history textbooks in the supply closet down the hall.” 

Devi groans, letting her backpack drop off her shoulders onto a desk. “Of course he does.” 

“Come on, David. The faster we go, the faster we can leave.” 

Devi shoves back the hurt that slices her gut at the cold, detached tone in his voice, and she just raises her head and marches over to the stack of textbooks on top of the radiator. In an attempt to show off (or maybe just get away from Ben as quickly as possible, she really can’t tell) she lugs far too many books into her arms, nearly dropping them. 

“Here,” Ben says, easily lifting over half the stack from her. Her arms sigh in relief. “I got it.” 

He turns and walks away without waiting for her response, and Devi trails silently after him, admiring the cord of muscle that’s visible under his skin, made even more attractive by the fact that he’s rolled up his sleeves to his forearms. They stack the books like this, silently, but Devi would be lying if she said there was anything innocent about it. 

Because there’s absolutely _nothing_ innocent about the way her gaze lingers on Ben’s hands as he places the textbooks neatly away in the supply closet, how she can also _see_ the ripple of muscle at his shoulders as he lifts them off the radiator, the curve of his jaw even more emphasized as he tilts his face up to place the books on a shelf higher than him. She’ll never admit that she sneaks glances at his throat far too often, admiring the way it bobs when he swallows. 

And there’s _certainly_ nothing innocent about the way she can feel his eyes trail down the curve of her leg when she rises up on her toes to place the book on the same shelf, how she catches him looking at the small sliver of skin between her tank top and her jeans. And, for a second, when she lifts the hair off the back of her neck to fan herself, she can _swear_ he’s looking for one of the marks he sucked into her skin three nights before, eyes like molten fire on her body. 

She shoves those thoughts into the back of her brain, but she and Ben work quickly and effectively, and as they make their way through the books, the frostiness coming off of Ben eases. Of course, the tension between them doesn’t, and whenever she spares a glance at the hollow of his throat, her own throat feels as dry as a desert. 

They finally reach the last batch of books, and Devi smiles when she slides it into place, admiring how nice the books look all neatly stacked, spines facing the same way. What? She likes organization, ok? Sue her. 

The organization turns out to be her downfall, though, because she’s so focused on the books in front of her when she takes a step forward she doesn’t notice her foot’s caught on the other edge of the bookshelf holding the textbooks, so she stumbles forward. 

Straight into Ben. 

It’s not like out of a romance movie at all. Her head smashes into his lip and he grabs just underneath her breast at the skin of her stomach—where there’s not anything to grab onto, but she manages to wrap a hand around the edge of the bookshelf and stop her forward momentum, giving Ben enough time to catch his bearings, his hand digging into her side.

“Ow,” he mutters, clearly in pain from where she crashed into him, but he doesn’t let go of her. His eyes flicker down to her, and she can’t help but flush where she’s sprawled over his chest. “Are you ok?” 

She nods, unable to say anything. His lips are _so close_ and suddenly, Devi can’t think of anything else. 

“Thought you were lighter on your feet than that, David,” he mutters, but unlike before there’s an undercurrent of warmth running through the words, and it’s enough so that the tension leaches out of her body. 

“What can I say? I was just admiring the nice job I did with the books.” 

He laughs, glancing back up at the books before back down at her, and she manages to drag her gaze away from his throat just in time. “Yeah, I’ll give you that.” 

His hand slides down, and now his fingers are pressing against her hip—and she doesn’t know if this is on purpose, but they’re exactly where they were when he held her hips at homecoming. She’s sure of it. After all, she can trace the oval shaped marks on her hips with her eyes closed, she’s spent so much time looking at them the past few days. 

She can tell Ben remembers, if the way his gaze darkens and his eyes drop to her lips is any indication. Her hand is curled into his shirt, and she feels frozen, her gaze flitting over his face. 

God, she wants to kiss him so _badly,_ so much it slices through her like a hot, physical ache. Her chest is crushed up against his, his hand searing marks into her waist—she wouldn’t be surprised to wake up the next morning and find that the bruises have turned into pink burn scars, his hand feels like it’s fucking on _fire_ on her skin—and yet, she’s still not close enough. 

She swallows roughly, and lets go of his shirt to drag her hand across his chest and curl around his arm, wondering if his heart isn’t beating just as fast as hers. 

There’s a line practically hovering in the air right now, and Devi knows if she crosses it, there’s no coming back. This is the point of no return, the Rubicon, and she’s never been more tempted to do something she knows is terrible for her before. 

“We shouldn’t do this,” he murmurs. 

She nods. “I know.” 

He looks at her, his expression unreadable, before he steps back from her. Devi tries not to feel utterly crushed. He’s right. They shouldn’t do this, but—she wants to. She _needs_ to, needs the drag of his skin against hers and the scorch of his lips on her own. 

She needs him like she needs air to breathe. Ben turns away from her and although it’s the right choice, she still feels her heart break in her chest. Devi closes her eyes, biting down on her tongue and forcing herself to forget about him, when she hears the door shut, and the lock click. 

Her eyes fly open, about to tear into Ben for locking her in here alone, but the words die on her tongue when she sees that he’s still in the closet. 

The line of his shoulders is tense, from where he’s standing, his back to her, and Devi opens her mouth to ask a question when suddenly, he’s turning around and walking back towards her. She can’t even move an inch before his hand slides into her hair and his mouth descends on hers. 

It’s even better than the kisses they shared at Trent’s house, because there’s something incredibly illicit about doing this at school, their battlefield. It’s always been sacred ground for them, where they are free to tear into each other without the watchful eyes of parents to hold them back, but fuck, Devi _never_ imagined in a million years she’d be doing _this_ with Ben Gross at school. 

He presses his fingers into her hips tightly again, and she gasps into his mouth, skin still sensitive from homecoming, but it’s so good her head spins. It crosses that line from pain into pleasure that Devi’s finding she very much wants to dance on. 

He walks her back until she’s pinned against the wall, and it’s so similar to what happened at homecoming she wants to laugh. 

Ben pulls away from her and kisses her neck gently, moving her hair off to the side to flick his tongue over the fading marks left there. “Is this the only move you have, Gross?” she gasps, smirking. 

Ben laughs into her skin. “Why fix something that isn’t broken?” 

“That’s a fair point,” she gasps, even as his fingers dip under her shirt to rub at her breast through her bra. “I was just hoping you might have something else.” 

He pulls back the collar of her shirt to bite her shoulder, and she bucks against him. “I could teach you about the Third Defenestration of Prague,” he smirks. 

She manages to roll her eyes—or maybe they just roll back into her head when his tongue flicks out to sooth her bitten skin—at that. “Yeah, I’m sure all the girls want to hear about that.” 

“Not all the girls,” he says, hand sliding down her stomach to unbutton her jeans. “Just you.” 

“I still think I know more about it,” she says, fingers digging into his biceps when he slips a finger into her. 

“Really?” he asks. Ben removes his face from her neck and kisses her again, hard and swift, before pulling away to look her in the eyes. “Who was thrown out the window?” As if to make her job even harder, his finger picks up speed inside of her, and she moans. 

“Um,” she gasps, racking her brain for the answer. She can barely even remember the date America got its independence, for god’s sake. “The—the two Regents and their secretary.” 

Ben smiles, and slips another fingers into her, and she gasps, thrusting against his hand. Of course he’d like this, _now._ “How far did they fall?” He presses his thumb against her clit, and she jerks against him in shock. He’s even _better_ with her body than last time, and it’s—scary good. Frighteningly easy for him to make her fall apart.

“Wh—what?” Ok, this is kind of weird. Ben quizzing her while getting her off in the supply closet at school? It’s a new, extremely specific kink of hers, because god, she likes this, if the slickness between her thighs is any indication. 

He leans forward, teeth nipping at her earlobe before repeating, “how far did they fall?”

His thumb makes tight little circles against her core, and she can’t—damn it, she can’t even breathe, let alone answer a question about a little known part of European history. 

But she’s not letting Ben win, so she closes her eyes and digs her fingers into his arm harder, trying to think of anything other than the heat slowly permeating her body, and of his fingers, rubbing at her. It takes her a while, but the answer finally comes to her. “Seven—seventy feet.” 

“Seriously, you still know this?” he mutters. “Fuck, you’re hot when you’re smart.” 

She opens her eyes and chokes out a laugh, tugging him closer. “I’m always hot.” 

“That too,” he agrees. “You are always hot.” 

“Damn straight, Gross. I knew you were obsessed with me. Now, come on, we haven’t got all day.” 

Ben quirks an eyebrow at her. “Answer my last question. Did they die?” 

He picks up speeding them, fingers moving in and out of her so fast she almost slams her head against the wall. “Ben, come on.” Colors flash and spiral behind her closed eyelids, and the pressure is _building,_ she’s so close. 

“You got this, Devi. Answer right, and then I’ll let you come. Did they die?” 

“After falling 70 feet? Who wouldn’t?” she groans, but she knows it’s not the right answer. 

“Come on, Devi. I know you got this.” He wraps his other arm around her waist, and never slows. If anything, he picks up speed, his thumb flicking over her clit, and she’s shaking so hard it feels like her whole body is vibrating with sensation. 

“They didn’t. It was rumored they—they were saved by the grace of G—God, but they actually ju—oh, _God.”_

“Just what?” He’s torturing her, and he likes it. 

Worst part is, she does too. 

“Fell into a pile of dung. But that—that’s probably a lie too.” 

“There you go,” he whispers. “Come on, Devi. Let go.” 

The words are all she needs and then she shatters underneath his hands, so similar yet so different to homecoming. It feels a thousand times more intense and everything feels amplified, even the hand on her waist to keep her close to him. He leans forward and presses a gentle kiss to the underside of her jaw, and she swears she can feel every inch of his lips in high definition. She digs her nails into his hip, determined to leave her own marks on him, to mark him as hers.

It takes her a moment to come down from her high, and when she does she can barely open her eyes, skin soaked in sweat. “Well,” she breathes. “That happened.” 

He doesn’t say anything for a moment before he dips his head down and captures her lips in another kiss. Even the simple, reassuring brush of his fingers against her skin quiets the panicked beat of her heart, the fucking staccato it is singing against her ribcage. She never expected to be here, but she is, and the strangest thing about it is how strange it isn't.

Ben pulls back and looks at her, eyes roaming over her face. “It did.” He gently removes his fingers from her, and slips them out of her jeans. She tries not to stare at them and instead focuses on buttoning her jeans up, brushing her hair out of her face. 

When she looks up, she notices Ben staring at her. “What?” she asks. 

He reaches out and drags a finger, feather-light, over her neck, and yet, it sends shockwaves through her. “You’ve got another hickey on your skin.” 

“Are you fucking serious?” she snaps. She catches sight of her reflection in the glass. “Oh god, again? What is it with you and marks?” 

He smirks, leaning against the bookshelf, eyes dragging over her. “I like them.” 

“Of course you would, asshole. I’m sure my mother won’t. And don’t worry, she won’t kill me until she tortures your name out of me, and I’m only too happy to give it up.” 

Ben’s gaze drops from cocky to terrified. “Shit.” He glances around him. “We gotta cover it up, don’t we?” 

Devi groans, brushing her hair with her hands so it falls over her neck. “I can hide it until I can get home and put on some concealer. She glances at her watch. “I don’t know how I’ll make it in time, but I’ll have to.” 

“I can give you a ride,” Ben offers. 

She stares at him and then bursts out laughing. 

“What?” he stares, looking at her blankly. 

“Please tell me you did _not_ miss the sexual innuendo _right there,”_ she teases. 

He rolls his eyes, although she can see a smile playing on his lips. “Oh, get your mind out of the gutter, David.” 

She unlocks the door and walks out of the supply closet, knowing she’s never going to be able to look at this room in the same way again. She bites her lip, contemplating Ben’s offer. The last time she had been with him in a car was two years ago. 

(and she ignores the swirling in her gut that says she wants this drive to end the same way, her hand cupped around his jaw and his mouth on hers, eyes bluer than the malibu sky gazing at her with nothing short of adora—)

“Um,” she says, and he turns to face her after shutting the supply closet door, “yeah. Thanks.” 

“Any time.” 

They get their things and high tail it out of the school, the implications of what they’d just done settling down on Devi. Oh, _god,_ what if someone heard them? Worse, what if there were _cameras?_

Ben notices the worried look on her face, and stops her, arm on her hand, as she’s about to open the passenger side door of his car. “What’s wrong?” 

“You don’t think there are—are like, cameras or something?” she stammers out. “Oh, _fuck.”_

But Ben just shakes his head. “Not in the storerooms, and besides, the ones of the school erase 12 hours after they’ve taped. No one’s going to see anything, Devi.” 

She crosses her arms. “How do you know that?” 

He smirks. “Did some volunteering in the principal’s office last year.” 

“Of course you did, nerd,” she mutters. She waits for him to unlock the car door and slides in, dropping her backpack at her feet and leaning back against her chair. “Thank you,” she says, looking over at her. 

Ben shifts the car into reverse and stretches a hand over to her seat as he backs out of the parking lot. Fuck, the lines of his jaw and neck are only made more attractive by this, and despite having _literally just had an orgasm,_ Devi wants him again. Will she ever not? 

“It’s not a big deal,” he says, flashing a quick smile at her as he pulls out of the school. “I mean, I did give you those marks anyways.” He nods to her neck, and her hand flies up on instinct to cover them before she realizes that she’s literally with the one person who knows everything. 

“Right. Yeah.” 

Her hand drifts down to brush against her hip, an action she’s sure Ben can see out of the corner of his eye. Whenever she touches that part of her skin, homecoming flashes through her mind, broken memories melding and merging together, and god, every time she remembers it, she can’t help but also remember how good it was. 

A thought occurs to her, and it’s so fucking ridiculous her first instinct is to laugh it off. 

But, once it’s there, it sticks, like a virus, and replicates, until she’s turning it over in her head and it doesn’t seem so ridiculous to her anymore. She runs a sweaty hand down her palm, wondering how to best word this, before she decides to fuck it. 

“So...that was our second time doing that.” 

Ben glances at her as he flicks on his blinker—ever the careful driver, she notes, with a fond smile. “I’m well aware. I don’t think I’ll be forgetting any time soon.” 

She flushes, eyes flickering back to her lap, where she’s squeezing her hands so tight it almost hurts. “You know the saying.” 

He says nothing, just hums, letting her continue. “Once is a mistake, twice is a coincidence…” she says, trailing off. 

“And three is a pattern,” he finishes. “What are you saying, Devi?” 

She clenches her teeth and somehow gets the words out. “Look, we both know you’re uptight and rigid as hell. You have like, seven steel rods up your ass.” 

He laughs, to her surprise. “I could say the same for you, but go on.” 

“And, you said the last time that sex was a great way to relieve stress. Which is true. So I was thinking…” she trails off, hoping he’ll pick up on the implication. 

He does, of course, because she’s known Ben for over a decade and he can always read between the lines with her, call her out on her bulllshit and stop her from deflecting. He knows her better than she knows herself, sometimes. “You want to make this a pattern? Us, sleeping together?” The car stops at a red light, and she works up the courage to look at him. 

He arches an eyebrow at her, and she’s a little surprised he’s not more shocked at the implication before she remembers that he’s been hooking up with random girls for the better part of two years. Maybe no strings attached was something he was actually _good_ at. 

She nods, not trusting herself to actually say the words. “No commitment, no strings, nothing. Just two stressed people looking to blow off some steam.” 

He snorts, and she _knows_ he’s caught the sexual innuendo in that statement, but he lets it slide. “Did you even think this through before you asked me?” 

She shrugs as they turn into her neighborhood. “What’s there to think about? I’m hot, and you should consider yourself lucky to be with me. Plus, you did manage to just get me off, so, as far as I see it, a win-win situation for me.” 

Ben frowns, but she can tell by the way his fingers tap on the steering wheel that he’s thinking about it. “No strings?” he repeats. 

She shakes her head. “No. We meet, we fuck, we leave. That’s it.” 

Ben smirks at her. “Sure you can stop yourself from falling for me?” 

Devi rolls her eyes. “I’m sure I’ll manage.” 

Ben sighs, sitting back in his seat. “And how long are we going to continue this? What if you or I find someone we want to date? Are we exclusive?” 

Devi shakes her head. “What is this, the Spanish Inquisition? God, Gross, if you didn’t want to do it, you just had to say so.” She moves to get out of the car, slightly hurt. 

“Wait!” Ben says. He catches her by her wrist, and the second her eyes flicker down to his hand, he lets go, like he’s been burned. “No, I want to, David. You make some really good points. I just—I think we need some rules. Just so we’re clear on where we stand.” 

Devi tips her head. “Ok, you have a point there. So what, you want to write a contract?” 

“I need it in writing, Devi. But we can keep them on our phones so no one else sees them.” 

Devi nods. “Ok. So, the big points: no sleeping with anyone else, no talking about anything, just sex, no telling anyone about this, and no attachments.” 

Ben’s already got his phone out and is jotting down everything she says. “I hate that I'm using my notes app for this,” he mutters, but shakes his head and writes down the points anyways. “I’ll formally type it up and share it with you later tonight, ok?” 

Devi nods. She looks over at Ben and breathes. “You’re sure about this?” she asks. 

“Yeah,” he shrugs. “Be nice to have something semi-regular in my life.” 

Devi can’t help it, she laughs. He’s not wrong. She’d gone a while without sleeping with someone, and now, she does feel a bit looser. She still wants him, she doesn’t think _that_ will change for a while, but it’s not as overwhelming now, knowing she can have him in the near future. “Same, Ben.” 

She reaches down and picks up her backpack. “We’ll talk about this later?” 

He nods, giving her a soft smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Devi.” 

She looks back at him, and he swallows, and she can’t just, leave. She needs something else. 

Without thinking, she leans over and kisses him, firmly, sliding the hand not clutching her backpack to his jaw. 

He kisses her back instantly, hand cupping her neck, thumb pressing against her pulse, and she wants to sigh into his mouth at the way his nails scrape against her scalp gently. She can lose herself in him, and it’s so easy to. Ben is like a whirlpool, dragging her deeper into the depths of his gaze without even trying, and she is helplessly swept up in him. 

She pulls away then, because if she doesn’t, she’ll never be able to, and offers him a smile. “There. Contract sealed.” 

Ben shakes his head, pressing his lips together to hold back a smile. “I hope I’m the only one you seal contracts like that with,” he teases. 

Devi rolls her eyes and hops out of the car. “You’ll just have to find out, won’t you?” 

She can hear him laugh as she shuts the door behind her, and although she knows he’ll wait until she enters the house, she doesn’t look back at him. 

When she’s finally in her room, though, she spares a glance at the driveway, and she’s not sure if she’s happy or disappointed to see that his car has vanished. 

Devi shoves the events of the day out of her mind as she daubs on some concealer (she’s going to need to buy a _lot_ more, soon) and sets out to do her homework. She breaks for dinner with her mother and then heads back up to her room to finish her work off. She’s in the middle of finishing up the last question on her AP Calculus homework when her laptop dings, notifying her that Ben’s shared a Google doc with her. 

She opens the doc up to find it looking like this:

_This contract serves as proof and evidence of the arrangement that Ben Gross and Devi Vishwakumar are entering._

  1. _The principle agreement of this arrangement is that the two participants will not, under any circumstances, reveal the presence or details of this arrangement to anyone else besides the participants. On behalf of Devi, this means she will, however reluctantly, keep this private from her friends._
  2. _The participants must endeavor to exercise communication to the fullest extent. If one is not feeling up to the activities normally surrounding their arrangement that day, they must say so._
  3. _The right to stop this arrangement at any time is reserved by both of the participants. A reason is not required._
  4. _For the duration of this arrangement, the participants will not engage in similar activities with any other individuals and remain exclusive to one another._
    1. _This pertains only to activities that the arrangement includes. Other ones, such as dating or pursuing a romantic partner, will be permitted, but the signatories must inform each other when they are planning on terminating the contract._
  5. _Neither Ben nor Devi will communicate with the other on the basis of things that do not pertain to the arrangement._
    1. _Barring, of course, academic activities on the off chance they are assigned group work.\_
  6. _Finally, the two participants both subject that they are fully aware this arrangement is purely physical, with no other aspects of a romantic relationship involved. No expectations will be foisted on the signatories. A violation of any of these rules will result in the termination of the arrangement and establish zero communication between the signatories._



Devi rolls her eyes at the stipulation regarding her friends, but she has to admit, it’s a necessary one. While she doesn't _like_ hiding things from them, she has to, in this case. If they knew what was going on between her and Ben...they’d meddle, and not in the good way. Or, at least, Eleanor would. And she can’t really handle that right now. 

She shoots Ben a text saying it’s fine, and then finishes up the last of her math homework, putting her work away and getting ready for bed once she’s done. 

She watches some _Riverdale_ while playing iMessage games with Eleanor and Fabiola in their group chat until late at night, and when she finally decides to go to bed, she grabs her phone and checks the contract using the Docs app on her phone one more time, laughing when she sees the one addition Ben has made to it. 

7 _. The signatories will not, under any circumstances, stop trying to beat one another for the duration of this contract. Even if Ben Gross is already a certain lock for valedictorian._

Devi corrects the contract so it crosses out Ben’s name and says her own, before turning her phone off and going to bed. 

She already knows she’s going to have another dream about Ben tonight. This time, she doesn’t mind quite as much. 


	2. act ii: i don’t mind you comin’ here and wastin’ all my time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It’s like she’s addicted, addicted to the taste of him and the way he touches her, sure, certain, like he knows how to make her fall apart without question. She wants him already, and the hunger hasn’t abated like she thought it would._
> 
> _In fact, the exact opposite has happened, in which she only wants him more and more with each passing day, the drag of his skin against hers and his blue, blue eyes, in which she wants that gorgeous smile to be directed at her and to make butterflies erupt in her stomach._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is brought to you by leila's prof's notes and rose's cornfield. 
> 
> lmao hey guys!!!! i couldn't stay away and so i'm back, here with another 15k chapter for y'all to enjoy! it's actually very exciting because i also graduated today!! lol i don't feel like a graduate but, i am, whelp. 
> 
> major thanks to leila, maggie, and rose for being the best cheerleaders in the history of the world and basically my encouragement to keep writing this. i love you guys so much!!!
> 
> regarding an update schedule: it's pretty up in the air. i'm currently free due to summer, so hopefully they shouldn't be too far in between, but i make no promises, and all bets are off once uni starts. 
> 
> there are three (3) sex scenes in this chapter and it's ridiculous. it's literally just banter and smut. i have no control. also there's my girls cause i love my girls and i need them. this fic will pass the bechdel test if it kills me. also, i noticed lots of you guys were commenting asking for ben's pov and i realized i forgot to mention the last chapter just ended up being all from devi's pov. the rest of this fic will have multiple povs. :))))
> 
> i hate westworld. this is not a westworld friendly space and it will stay that way. 
> 
> (chapter title from “just what i needed” by the cars)
> 
> k thank you enjoy!!!!

Devi tempers down her nerves, fingers playing with the hem of her dress as she raises her right hand to knock. 

The second she’s knocked, she feels heat flush her cheeks as she catches sight of the doorbell. Fuck, who knocked anymore? Ben was going to think she was such a weirdo. 

She shifts awkwardly as she waits for someone to come to the door. Should she ring the doorbell? What if they heard her knock and they were coming and got annoyed by the doorbell ringing? What if they _didn’t_ hear her knock and she was just standing here awkwardly for ten minutes? 

Before she can descend into _too_ much paranoia and flee the scene, the door opens and Ben’s standing there. 

“Hey,” he says. 

Devi nervously tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Hi.” 

They stare at each other for a few more moments before Ben clears his throat. “Um. You want to come in?” 

Devi can’t help it, she smirks. “No, Ben, I want to have sex with you on your front steps where all of your neighbors can see us.” 

He laughs, even as his face flushes beet red. “That’s your kink, huh?” 

She rolls her eyes as she steps into his house, nerves already settling. This—this is unusual territory for the both of them. 

In that it was the first time they were planning on hooking up with like, actual preparation. The times before (twice, Devi’s brain ever so helpfully adds) had been impulsive and born of sheer need. 

But she couldn’t deny the thrill that ran down her back when Ben had texted her last night, asking if she wanted to meet at his place tomorrow. She’d know what he meant without him even having to say the words, and before she even knew what she was doing she was texting back a _sure._

That’s the whole point of this arrangement (agreement? situation? god, she’s going to have to find a better name for this), wasn’t it? To get the benefits of a relationship without all the hassle of being in one. So there was nothing wrong with her accepting Ben’s offer.

Devi feels her stomach coil as she looks around the foyer to his home. She hasn’t been here since...since sophomore year. 

(and sophomore year, oh, sophomore year, that was _painful,_ wasn’t it, her life upending upon itself—) 

She refuses to let herself think about that and glances over at Ben. “Anyone home besides us?” 

He shakes his head. “Patty’s off for the day and my parents are off doing god knows what god knows where.” The bitterness in his tone is light, barely concealed, and to anyone else, he would sound normal, but Devi’s known Ben for far too long to be able to delude herself into thinking he’s fine. As much as he can read between her lines, she can read between his. 

Devi tries to harden her heart against his words but—it’s hard. Because _no one,_ not even Ben Gross, deserves to have people who are just free form, floating in and out of his life like it’s a fucking choice. 

But Devi soundly ignores that and smirks at him, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Luring me into an empty house. Very serial killer of you, Gross.” 

Ben rolls his eyes. “Please, Devi. I’m not so boring as a _serial killer._ Maybe a bank robber, or something.” 

Devi arches an eyebrow. _Oh._ “Do tell, Gross. How would you rob a bank?” 

Ben blushes a bright red and walks into his house, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m like, not saying I would, or anything, but you just have to be quiet and not incredibly reckless. Most robberies happen in like, ten seconds. Staying too long, that’s the mistake the robbers always make on cop shows.” 

“Aw, and here I thought you were too chicken to watch anything but The Wiggles,” she laughs. 

Ben huffs a laugh and glances over at her. “So. You want anything? To like, drink?” 

Devi shakes her head. “No. Short and simple, right?” 

He nods. “How do you wanna do this?” he asks. 

Devi just stares at him before grabbing his wrist. She drags him down the hall towards his room—and doesn’t think about what it means that she _still_ remembers where his room is 2 years later—and shoves open the door. 

She kicks it shut with her foot and tosses her bag in the corner, placing her hands on her hips. “Here.” 

“Oh. Ok.” Gone’s the Ben from last week, the cocky, arrogant asshole who made her fall apart way too fucking easily to be real. He looks nervous, shifting around on his feet, and it worries Devi, though she’ll never tell him that. 

“Ben, point 2 on the contract,” she says gently. “If you don’t want to do this, we don’t have to.” 

He laughs. “I wrote that point more for you, actually,” he says. “But no.” He rubs his palms on his jeans. “I just—I didn’t want to take advantage of you.” 

Devi sighs. “Ben, I’m going to tell you this _once_ because I really don’t want to have to repeat myself every time we do this, ok? You’re not taking advantage of me. To imply that I am anything other than a willing, active participant in what we are doing is frankly, a bit insulting to me, ok? Please, I’m fine.” 

She reaches her hand out, and he takes it. Devi steps closer to him, running her hand up his chest and over his shoulder. “Come on, Gross. I don’t have much time.” 

Ben smirks and pulls her into him. He doesn’t kiss her, not quite yet, but his hands reach up and pull down the zipper to her dress gently. “Right. Sorry, forgot how difficult it was for you to pencil me into your busy schedule.” 

“You should be lucky. I moved several appointments for this,” she quips, letting her dress spill to the floor. She runs her hands up Ben’s chest and slips his shirt off, and dances her fingers over his shoulders. 

“I’m sure. Plotting world domination must be exhausting.” 

Devi pulls back and narrows her eyes at him. “World domination?” 

Ben rolls his eyes as he pushes her towards his bed, letting her lean down on it. He presses his lips to the juncture of her neck and collarbone as she leans back against his pillows, sighing at the comfort of the sheets. “Yeah,” he says, fingers trailing along her spine. She arches into his touch, however unbidden, and he leans down and presses a kiss to her shoulder. “Isn’t that what you’re planning on? Can’t think of any other reason you would be so intense all the time.” 

Devi scoffs. “And pray tell, Ben, how would I achieve world domination?” 

He trails his tongue down the center of her chest, snapping open the clasp of her bra and pulling it off of her before running his tongue over the peak of her breast. “Biological warfare? Seems like your kind of thing.” 

Even as her breath hitches in her throat, she frowns, running her hands down to unbutton his jeans. “Biological warfare would never actually work. Just look at the rabbit population in Australia and the myxoma virus.” 

Ben raises his head from where his lips are pressing a belt of kisses into her stomach. “What?” he asks, and the look on his face is so adorably confused Devi can’t resist pulling him down for a kiss. 

They have time now, and however much Devi wants to flick the switch, take this up and raise the level, she wants to savor this more, every moment of it. Ben seems to know it too, and kisses her slowly, something to relish and drown in. He reaches a hand up to cup her jaw, and just the touch of his hand against her pulse sends it skyrocketing, pounding away. 

“The European rabbit population,” she breathes. “In Australia. They tried to control it using the myxoma virus.” 

“Yes, because that makes total and complete sense. European rabbits in Australia.” Ben drags his teeth over her shoulder, flicking his tongue out where the strap of her bra had been, and she sighs, digging her hands into his hair to pull him closer. 

“Well, _considering_ they were released into Australia, I’d say it makes sense.” She pushes down his jeans and kicks them off the bed. Ben’s hands trace the curve of her hips, and he gently sucks a mark into the side of her breast, causing her to gasp. 

“What would anyone ever want to do that for?” Ben asks. 

Her hands twist into his hair and she hums in pleasure as his thumb flicks at the peak of her breast, losing herself in his touch. She blinks at the ceiling of his room, curving one hand down to rub back and forth absently at his back. It feels good enough that she feels like she could float away, completely evaporating at his touch into nothingness. 

“Devi!” 

“Huh?” She startles back to reality, lost in the feel of his mouth pressing gentle kisses on her body. “What?” 

Ben drops his head, soft hair brushing his collarbone. “Are you bored?” he laughs. 

She smirks. Far from it, truthfully, but she’s not going to let _him_ know that. “I mean, I was hoping you’d sleep with me _some_ time today, Gross.” 

Ben cocks an eyebrow. “Fine.” He taps his fingers down her body and slips her underwear off her body, his fingers slipping into her easily. She gasps, eyes fluttering closed. God, he feels so _good,_ every time. “But,” he says easily, flicking his thumb against her. “I have to admit, I’m a little interested in the whole myxoma virus situation. What’s going on there? How did the rabbits even end up in Australia?” 

She digs her nails into the sheets, scraping at them. “What, you want me to talk about this _now?”_ She glares at him. 

Ben shrugs, fingers rubbing at that _spot_ inside of her that she knows makes her hungrier. “I want to hear your voice.” 

Devi sighs, relenting. Frankly, she doesn’t like being silent during sex either, and if her talking about science was what Ben wanted to hear—well, she wasn’t going to deny him. 

“Thomas Austin introduced them so he could hunt them in—in 1859,” she stammers out, eyes slipping shut as Ben gently rakes his teeth down her neck. “But by 1920 the population had—had gone from 24 to 1 billion.” 

“Holy fuck,” Ben sighs, against her jaw. He attaches his lips to the underside of her jaw and she moans. God, another hickey? She doesn’t understand Ben’s obsession with them, but she’s certainly not questioning it. Not when the pleasure that she gets from his lips on her neck slides like mercury down her body and pools in her stomach. “Guess there’s a reason the saying is going at it like rabbits, huh?” 

Ben flicks his thumb over her clit, and leans a bit further down, running his tongue along the curve of her breast. “Keep going, David.”

Devi tilts her head to the side. “Ben, come on,” she groans. She hooks a leg around his knee. “Why do you care?” 

“When you’re not screaming at me about something, you have a nice voice. Finish it up, Devi. What did they do?” 

As if only to drive her further insane, Ben slides down her body, his breath puffing over her clit, and for a second, Devi freezes. He’s not—he’s not going to do what she thinks he is, is he? 

Thankfully, Ben just nips at her thigh, his fingers picking up speed. Devi sighs in relief, or frustration, which, she’s not sure. “Devi,” he murmurs, and she snaps back to reality. 

“Oh—okay,” she says, Ben slips another finger inside of her, and she arches up off the bed, the unexpected pleasure spiralling through her. He drags them in and out of her slowly, as if he wants to set every single one of her nerve endings on fire, but she forces her attention back to finish up what she’s telling him. “So—so they introduced this virus, the myxoma virus, and—” 

He stops suddenly, and she gasps. “What—what did you stop for?”

He moves back up her body, pressing soft kisses along her side. “I want to watch you,” he murmurs, biting gently at her neck. Her eyes flutter shut in delirium, and god, it feels so _good_ she wants to melt into the bed and never get up. 

“Oh,” she breathes. 

Ben pulls his fingers out of her, and she arches her back, bending like a bow at the sudden pleasure that rockets down her spine like a bolt of lightning. Then, she feels him move off of her, and her eyes fly open. “Where—where are you going?” 

Ben smirks at her, amused. “I think we’re missing something, aren’t we, Devi?” 

He leans over and opens the dresser drawer, pulling out a foil packet. She ducks her head, trying not to blush. “Oh.” 

He rolls the condom on and tips her face up, kissing her deeply. “I want to hear you.” 

Devi gasps as he pushes into her. God, he feels _good._ Steady, and yet, the way his fingers shake as they trail down her body shows that he’s a little nervous, and she _loves_ it, because she is too. She remembers again that she and Ben are on equal ground here, partners and equals, and it comforts her. 

“I want to _hear_ you.” His gaze is dark when he pulls back, and he runs a hand down her face. “Don’t be quiet.” 

He leans down and kisses her and then starts to move, and damn, how does this feel better every time? 

Devi memorizes everything about this moment, the way Ben’s hair feels, silken soft in her fingers as she kisses him, the slight roughness on his cheeks, the way he can’t seem to stop touching her everywhere, the beautiful, beautiful way he whispers into her ear. She wants to bite at his neck and force him to pick up the pace and detach all emotion from this moment, but—she can’t, because she’s wrapped up in him, in everything he is making her feel. 

She ducks her head down and sucks a mark into his skin. He knows how to keep her _just_ on the edge, to keep her from slipping over the edge, and god, he feels impossibly good and she wants to shatter, brought to ecstasy by him. 

“Tell me,” he breathes. “Finish telling me about the virus.” 

Devi’s eyes roll back into her head as he loses a bit of control and sinks into her deep, and her nails scratch at the skin of his back. “I—I can’t.” 

She can’t even _think_ right now, the way Ben knows exactly how to drive into her to make her go crazy, the perfect way his fingers dig into her hip and how he effortlessly drags her leg up his side, heel brushing his back. He maps her body out better than she can ever hope to, as if he is a cartographer, studying her.

“Devi, you’re the smartest person I know. You _can.”_

She preens a little at the praise, and groans into his skin when he winds a hand in between their bodies to brush his fingers over her clit, feather light. “Ok—ok. In 1950, they introduced the virus, and it dropped the population to 100 million.” 

“Oh, only that?” Ben jokes, leaning down and wrapping his mouth around her breast. The feel of his tongue swirling on her skin combined with the way he’s driving into her, steady, and sure, has her seeing in technicolor. 

She grips his shoulders and resists the urge to push her breast further into his mouth, chasing that high, that release. “Ben, move faster, please.” 

He hums against her skin and picks up speed. “Finish the story,” he mumbles, against her breast. 

Devi can’t keep her eyes open, she can’t, but she gasps the final words out, preoccupied with Ben’s fingers, rubbing circles into her clit, and she thinks for a split second how good it would feel to have his mouth down there before she drags herself back to reality. “But it didn’t—work. Because of—of course some rabbits developed imm—immunity and repopulated. So—so yeah. It all fell apart.” 

He laughs. “They should have hired you. You would have figured it out.” 

Devi can’t even justify that with a response, because then he picks up speed, and then he pinches her clit with his thumb and index finger, and she falls apart. 

She clutches onto him as she tumbles and shatters, the only steady thing, the only thing grounding her to the world, and when he comes above her it draws out her own release, and she basks in the warmth settling in her limbs. Blood is roaring in her ears, and she barely registers the sweep of his hand down her face as he leans down and kisses her. 

She’s still half in the throes of orgasm and so kissing him back is hard but. Fuck, kissing Ben while she’s still shaking around him? It’s an otherworldly experience, and the only thing she is sure of in this moment is him, of his body against hers. She swears, every moment of him is immortalized on her skin. Her body is a testament to his presence, her body the canvas upon which he draws on. 

Even as they lay here, on his bed, tangled up in his sheets, faces turned into each other’s necks, Devi still feels the ghost of his hands smoothing over every inch of her. He lingers, like the smell of rain after a thunderstorm, and she scarcely wants to move for fear he’ll vanish from her skin. 

Devi’s eyes flutter open after a bit, composing herself once more. Ben’s face is still pressed into her neck, and she runs her hands through his hair. She pushes gently at his shoulder, and he moves instantly, almost giving Devi whiplash from how quickly he scrambles to get off of her. 

“Sorry,” he mutters.

“Don’t be. It’s fine. I just—” she gestures to herself, and Ben’s eyes light up in recognition. 

“Oh. Yeah, yeah, of course. Um. You can use my bathroom.” He gestures to the door in his room, and Devi purses her lips, holding back a smile. 

“What’s that for?” 

She looks at him. “What?” 

“You’re smirking.” He reaches up and flickers her lip, and she jerks away, scowling at him. 

“I was just thinking how predictable it would be for a guy like you to have a bathroom _in your room,_ of course.”

Ben rolls his eyes. “Oh my god, you’re literally obsessed with my money, but in like, a non gold-digger way. A coal-digger?” he says, scrunching his nose up. 

Devi rolls her eyes as she scoots off the bed, grabbing a sheet and wrapping it around her. “I’ll be right back,” she says. 

“Be careful with those sheets, David!” he calls. “They cost more than your house.” 

She spins around and flips him off, but she’s smiling. It’s such a _Ben_ thing to say she can’t help but be a bit endeared by it. 

They both freshen up before Devi finds herself sitting on Ben’s bed wearing nothing, sheets wrapped around her, as she waits for him to come back out of the bathroom. When he finally does, she can’t deny that her heart pounds a little at the red marks on his chest, which she knows will become darker. 

He settles on the bed wearing his boxers, and looks her in the eyes. There’s something lurking in his eyes, and with a jolt, Devi realizes it’s nerves. He’s not sure where to go from here either, and...the thought is comforting.

She takes the initiative and reaches out, placing a hand on his knee and offering him a warm smile. “That was…” 

“Really good,” he finishes for her. 

“Do you seriously just like quizzing me while getting me off?” she laughs. She likes it too, but more for the challenge it presents, the way her mind and body fight against each other. She likes it because she and Ben volley for control, and it makes her feel like she’s an equal. 

Ben laughs softly. “Yeah, I think so? I wasn’t lying, you really are very hot when you’re smart, but even more so when you’re telling me what you know. I think I just like the sound of your voice,” he admits, blushing. 

Devi laughs. “Yeah, even when it’s telling you about a deadly virus?” 

“Is it deadly to humans?” 

She snorts. “No, but this scientist—I can’t remember his name, don’t laugh at me, you idiot—injected himself with it to see if it was.” 

Ben shuffles closer to her and gently brushes his lips against her shoulder. “Smart. What else do you know?” 

She rolls her eyes. “More than you, that’s for sure.” 

“Wanna bet?” 

“Ben, please, we’re not in school.” 

“But I wanna hear your voice,” he whines. He presses open-mouth kisses along the edge of her jaw, teeth grazing her skin ever so gently, and she relaxes into his touch. How—how the fuck did he always know the right thing to say? How did he know how to make it perfect without even asking her?

(malibu lingers in the back of her mind, how he knew what she needed before he did, how ben spent so long trying to help her because he could see her like no one else and—)

Devi forces those pangs down and grins at him. “Well, I can always say _other_ stuff to you, if you want,” she smirks. 

Ben cocks an eyebrow. “Like what?” 

Devi feels heat spill into her stomach at the look on his face, and fuck, she already wants him again, doesn’t she? Well, it’s not like she _can’t_ have him. “Come and find out.” 

He seems to like that answer, if the way he pushes her back on the bed and kisses her is any indication. 

* * *

She blinks, limbs stretching like a cat in the warmth of the sun, spilling in from the windows, and rolls over, sitting up and running a hand through her hair. 

“Where are you going?” Ben asks. He’s leaning against the headboard, sheets pulled up to his waist, as his eyes drag over her. Like she always does when her eyes are on him, she feels heat rise in her cheeks. The way he looks at her, like he’ll never have enough of her (despite them having had sex just now not just once, not twice, but _three times)_ makes her feel like the most wanted woman in the world, though she’ll never tell him that. She doesn’t hate when he looks at her, because he doesn’t ogle her as much as admire, looking at her with a restrained passion she feels coil in her gut. 

Devi glances back at him, sheets pressed to her chest. “Home. Where else?” 

Ben leans forward. “You’re leaving already?” He grins wolfishly at her. “You don’t want to go again?” 

Devi rolls her eyes. “Thanks for the offer, Ben, but I gotta get back. I have that AP Calculus mod to do, remember?” 

Ben leans forward and presses a kiss to her shoulder as she runs a hand through her hair. “I finished it. You could just copy the answers from me.” 

Devi grumbles, twisting to look at him. “Devi Vishwakumar does _not_ cheat.” 

Ben groans. He presses another kiss, a little lower, hands following his mouth. “Damn. So I can’t convince you to stay? I promise I got stuff you haven’t seen before.” 

Devi snorts, rather unelegantly as she glances around the room for her clothes. “Like what?” 

He trails a finger over the nape of her neck. “Stuff.” 

“That’s not very descri—oh!” Ben’s lips press against the small of her back, and he follows up her spine, fingers trailing after his mouth. “Ben,” she sighs. 

He lays kisses along her spine in a straight line, and fuck, she’s never been more tempted to twist around and press him into the bed and see what _else_ he can do with that mouth of his, but she can’t. She really, really can’t. If she stayed any longer, her mother would be getting suspicious. 

So, she reluctantly pulls away from him, just after he kisses the nape of her neck. “I have to go.”

Ben sighs, hand sweeping down the curve of her back. “I know.” 

She pats his thigh through the blanket and grabs her clothes, slipping them on quickly as Ben watches her. 

It’s an unsettling level of intimacy, a sort of comfort that Devi’s entirely too uncomfortable with, so she decidedly does _not_ look at him as she fumbles with the straps of her bra. She tugs her dress on and manages to get the zipper halfway up, which she decides is enough. 

“Wait,” he says. Devi freezes on her way to his door. 

“What?” 

He frowns at her, leaning forward. “Your dress. Wait a second.” 

He swings out of bed and quietly pads over to her, dragging the zipper the rest of the way up. His hands smooth over her shoulders when he’s done. “There.” 

Devi’s heart pounds in her chest and it’s too—too fucking much. “Thanks,” she says curtly. She doesn’t look back at him. She’s scared if she does she won’t leave. 

“Are you good to get home?” 

“I don’t need you to coddle me, Ben,” she snaps, perhaps slightly too sharp, but her emotions are being chipped away at, and their edges are rough, cutting her insides up, with her pain bleeding out through her voice. “I’m good. I’ll see you at school. Text me next time you want to hook up.” 

She doesn’t spare him a second glance as she walks out of his room and down the stairs, not letting herself slow down her steady pace until she’s halfway to her own house. She needs to remember what she and Ben are: celestial bodies trapped in each other’s orbit, destined to either collide or drift further apart. They are not destined to be with each other. 

If she slows down, she’ll forget that fact and go running back right to him, to his smile and his eyes and his laugh, so she ducks her head down and keeps walking. 

* * *

“Are you okay?” 

Devi bangs her head against her locker in shock. “Ow!” she says, rubbing at the side of her head, before swiveling around to look at her best friends. “What?” she says, half dazed, still occupied with the dull pain throbbing at her temples. 

Eleanor frowns, putting her hands on her hips, ever the dramatic. Devi notes her colorful outfit for today—a boho skirt paired with a floral tank top, her hair twisted into a messy bun and tied up with another hippie looking bandana. “You’ve been weird lately,” she says, narrowing her eyes at Devi. 

Devi glances at Fabiola, who’s fiddling with something on her backpack. “Fab?” she asks, raising an eyebrow. 

Fabiola glances up, her gaze volleying between her two best friends. “Don’t look at me. Eleanor interrupted my session with Gears Brosnan to drag me to you.” 

Eleanor shakes her head. “Fabiola, how many times do I have to tell you, that robot is not a licensed therapist.” 

“He listens better than my actual therapist!” Fabiola argues. 

“You should go to mine,” Devi comments easily, grabbing her textbooks out of her locker and shutting it. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Ben through the throng of students, approaching his locker, and she turns away from it, trying to keep herself cool and composed. “Dr. Ryan is pretty good.” 

“Dr. Ryan is one of the best therapists in SoCal,” Fabiola mutters. “And she’s totally booked. I still have no idea how your mother got an appointment with her.” 

“You know what my mother is like,” Devi says. “When the doctor wants something, she gets it, no ifs, ands, or buts.” 

Eleanor frowns as they sit at their lunch table, a circular table in the back right of the courtyard. “Don’t deflect, Devi. Something’s going on with you.” 

Devi rolls her eyes as she pulls out her lunch—leftover chapati and channa from dinner last night—and unscrews the cap of her water bottle. “What are you talking about, El?” 

Eleanor studies her, her gaze sweeping over Devi critically. “I don’t know,” she says slowly. “But I’m going to figure it out. I’ll go all Nancy Drew on your ass.” 

Devi chokes on her channa, trying not to laugh. “Eleanor, you’re a midget.” 

Eleanor swats her with her rehearsal script. “I’ll have you know I’m a perfectly acceptable height. Plus, we’re like, the same height, Devi.” 

Fabiola fixes a bored glance on Eleanor. “Have you ever even _read_ the Nancy Drew books, or is all your information based off of the CW remake of it?” 

Eleanor flushes. “I mean…” she trails off, which is answer enough for Devi and Fabiola. 

They exchange a glance. “Eleanor,” Devi laughs. “Those books are _nothing_ like the show. They’re much better. Like, the Archie Comics and _Riverdale._ I watch the show and I can admit that.” 

Eleanor tosses her hair over her shoulder dramatically. “Well, artistic license, right?” 

“There’s artistic license and then there’s insanity,” Devi snickers. 

Eleanor glares at her. “Well, I for one, am extremely thankful for that, because otherwise we would have never gotten the absolute _masterpiece_ that is _Hamilton.”_

Devi rolls her eyes fondly as Fabiola and Eleanor debate the pros and cons of artistic license and digs back into her lunch. Absently, she brushes a strand of hair off of her shoulder and winces when her nail scraps against a particularly sensitive spot on her neck, where she covered up a faint hickey Ben had left. 

Fabiola notices her pain and looks at Devi with worried eyes. “Devi, are you ok?” 

Devi shrugs it off. “I’m fine, Fab. Thanks, though.” 

Fabiola nods, still looking a bit worried. “Did you pull your neck, or something?” 

Devi racks her brain for a good excuse, considering she can’t tell her friends, “no, actually, I started sleeping with my long time nemesis for the past 12 years and he’s like, really good in bed and that’s actually a mark he left on my neck from the last time we hooked up at his place.” 

“I think I just slept on it weirdly, or something,” she says. 

Eleanor glances at Devi. “Devi, did you hear the news?” 

Devi swallows her food. “Yeah, El, that’s why I’m looking at you with a confused look on my face right now.” 

El bites her lip in excitement as she glances over at Fabiola. “Are you gonna tell her?” 

Devi swings her gaze to her friend, raising an expectant eyebrow. “Fab?” she says, voice lifting at the end. 

Fabiola sighs, drumming her fingers against the table. “I decided I’m going to apply to MIT.” 

Devi squeals in happiness and throws her arms around her best friend. “Oh my god, Fab, I’m so glad!” 

Fabiola had been hemming and hawing over the past few days about applying to MIT, sure that she wasn’t getting in, but Devi and Eleanor had both been pushing her to do so. They _knew_ she was going to get in—how could she not? She was Fabiola Torres, captain of the robotics team, and she was one of the smartest people they knew. She was going to get into any school she wanted. 

“I’m so happy you’re taking this chance, Fab,” Devi says, pulling away from her friend. “You’re going to get in. I know it.” 

“You can’t prove that, though,” Fabiola says. “Statistically, MIT only accepts 7.2% of its incoming applicants, and every year, there’s about 20,000 people applying, and so the chances of me getting in are extremely small. Their incoming freshmen class isn’t even 1500, for god’s sakes! Plus, I overheard Lucas Stile mentioning he wanted to apply, and he’s that kid who invented that water thingy that was on the news, and so the chances of MIT accepting two students from the same high school in a class of less than 1500 is ridiculous.”

Devi brushes all that aside. “Fuck that, Fab. You’re amazing, awesome, and you are getting into that school. They’d be lucky to have you.”

Fabiola offers her a small smile. “Thanks, Devi.” 

Devi grins at her friend. “Of course. I admit,” she starts, turning back to her lunch, “it’s not _totally_ selfless. I’m going to need someone to come cross country with me when I—hopefully—get into Princeton, so you at MIT would be perfect.” 

Eleanor smiles. “Oh! We should all come up with like, something magical to share!” She claps her hands together gleefully. “Like _Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants,_ or something! That would be so much fun!” 

Devi and Fabiola exchange an amused look, used to Eleanor’s antics. “Ok, sure, El.” 

“Just don’t expect me to wear anything _you_ like,” Fabiola snickers. “It’s a little too...drug-induced for me.” 

Eleanor’s mouth drops open in shock as Devi loses it, and she listens to her friends bicker about fashion choices for the rest of lunch, relishing in the warmth of the California sun. 

* * *

“So,” Shapiro says, standing on top of his desk chair. “You all are my royal subjects, and you will listen to what I decree, it shall be so!” 

Devi scrunches her nose. What the _fuck_ is wrong with her history teacher? Seriously, how does he still have a job? 

“We’re going to be starting our project on obscure parts of European history today. Now, I’ve placed you into partner pairs, and you guys will be writing a skit of the history and acting it out in front of the class!” 

A collective groan emerges from the room. “We seriously can’t just do like, a paper or something?” Devi mumbles, tipping her head forward. 

Shapiro gapes at her. “Where’s the learning in that, Devi! Come on, guys! You’re Gen Z. Aren’t you all supposed to have a can-do attitude?” 

_“Can_ I kill myself?” she hears Ben mutter, and she has to bite her lip to stop herself from smiling.

Shapiro clicks the remote in his hand, and behind him, the partner pairs and their topics appear on the whiteboard. “Here are your groups. Now, I believe that we don’t get to choose those who come into our paths of life, so, _no switching._ I don’t want to hear it. Also, I can’t, because I have a minor ear infection. But! That’s neither here nor there. Go on, get started!” 

Devi’s heart flops in her chest when she sees her name next to Ben’s up there. Thank god, they weren’t assigned the Defenestrations of Prague. She thinks she might have died if that were the case. She’s so wrapped up in staring at the board, though, she hardly notices the class is aflutter with movement and when Ben drops into the seat in front of her, swiveling around to face her. 

“So, David.” He drums his fingers on her desk and he’s totally fucking doing this on purpose, drawing her attention to his hands so she’ll straight up _combust_ in the middle of history class. 

She smirks back at him. “Gross.” 

“You sure you can work on this project with me?” 

“Are you sure you can keep up with me?” 

“At least I won’t have to slow down for you.”

Devi leans back in her seat and cranes her neck to see the topic they’ve been assigned. “Tycho Brahe...and his moose?” she finishes, wrinkling her nose. 

Ben rolls his eyes, pulling out his laptop. “Very funny, David. What does it really say?” 

She pokes him in the arm, hard enough so that he yelps. “That _is_ what it says, asshole. Turn the fuck around.” 

Ben stares at her before swiveling around, reading the words for himself. “A moose?” he repeats. 

Devi snickers. “I’m _not_ being the moose.” 

Ben glares at her. “If you think there is a chance in _hell_ I am being the moose, you’re delusional.” 

Devi rolls her eyes. “Whatever. So, how do you wanna get this done?” 

Ben glances at her. “Well, we can just meet up at my place after school to get it done. With the both of us working on it for a few hours, we should be able to finish it in one night. Maybe minor modifications later, at the most.” 

Devi nods. “Ok. I just have to let my mom know she’s got to get me.” 

“I can drive you home.” 

Devi smirks. “I don’t think so. Wouldn’t that break the rules of the contract?” 

Ben shrugs. “Not if we only stick to the project topic.” 

Devi bites her lip. Bending the rules this early...it’s dangerous, but she’s tempted. Far too tempted. Her gaze flicks down to Ben’s mouth before back into his eyes. “Ok.” 

To what she’s agreeing to, she’s not sure, but—Ben is a temptation, one Devi’s too weak to resist, now that she knows what he’s like. 

Plus, they have a history project to work on, and if there’s one thing neither of them is going to sacrifice, it’s their grades, so she’d not worried about not getting the work done. She can do this. She can spend time with Ben alone working on homework. 

It’ll be _fine._

* * *

“You know,” she remarks, jotting down her physics notes, “I think Tycho Brahe is my ideal man.” 

Ben looks over at her from where he’s working through Chinese and laughs. “What?” 

They’ve finished the project, rather easily—seriously, Shapiro does _not_ treat this as an AP class—and now they’re working on some other homework before Devi has to be home in a few hours. It scares her how easily companionable this silence with Ben is, and she’s dimly aware of the fact that they’re stretching the rules to the absolute extent already, but there’s nothing wrong with two people sitting and quietly doing homework together. 

“Yeah,” she smirks. She glances back at her laptop to switch the slides. “I mean, after everything we learned about him, I think he’s exactly who I want in life.” 

Ben laughs. “The fake nose really doing it for you?” His eyes sparkle in the sunlight spilling into his room, and Devi glances over at him, faltering for a moment at how handsome he looks in the light. 

She’s always loved his eyes. Even if she’s never admitted it to him, even if she _will_ never admit it to him, the color of his eyes have always fascinated her, brighter than the sky, exactly her favorite shade of blue. And his eyes, right now they look beautiful, in the sunlight. 

(he looks exactly like he did on the cliff in malibu in this light and he had been an utter mess, then, falling asleep while waiting for her on the beach, but it had struck a match in her, a flame that refuses to burn out, and sometimes she wonders if it will ever die—)

She recovers easily, though, and smirks. “I think it’s more the pet moose. You know, the one that _supposedly_ died of alcohol poisoning.” 

“Oh yes,” Ben nods seriously. “A pet moose is an absolute requirement in a partner.” 

“Can’t think about having a relationship otherwise,” she quips. Ben shakes his head and turns back to his work. 

They work silently for a bit longer, Devi flipping through her notes easily. She’s almost done when she feels Ben’s hand drag down her back, and she smiles. 

“Patience, Gross.” 

He leans forward and nips at her throat. “Why?” 

Devi’s brow furrows. “Because I have to focus on my homework?” 

He slides his hands underneath her shirt and cups her breast in his hand. Her hand shakes, her neat handwriting wobbling a little on the page. “You’d rather do homework?” 

“Stop trying to distract me, Ben,” she snaps, a little sharper, but she can’t help but arch into his touch when he flicks his tongue over the shell of her ear. 

“Is it working?” he whispers. 

She stubbornly juts her chin out, ignoring how her skin feels hot, tight, like it's shrinking. No matter how her mind reacts, though, her body refuses to obey, and is drawn to Ben’s touch. His hands are conductors on her skin, calling out an orchestra of sounds, a symphony of touch. 

“No,” she grinds out. She knows he can tell she’s blatantly lying, because then his hands slip underneath her jeans to rub a circle into her hip and she moans, gripping her pencil tighter, but she’s not giving him any satisfaction. 

Then, he stops. He pulls away from her and sits back, and the whiplash of his hands leaving her has her head spinning. “Ok.” 

Devi glares at him. “Oh, I hate you,” she bites out. 

He raises an eyebrow. “Hey, you’re the one who wanted to focus on your work.” 

Devi breathes out and stubbornly ignores him, clenching her jaw. “I did.” 

She can’t, though. The second she turns her attention back to her notes, she wants to melt. She can _feel_ his gaze on her, eyes raking over her body, and the ghost of his hands still lingers. He’s built her up and then given her nowhere to go and she’s pissed at him for it. 

She tries her hardest to shove the thoughts out of her mind and manages to get a few more bullet points down, handwriting extremely shaky. 

“You look flustered,” he smirks. “Are you sure you’re ok, David?” 

“I’m fine, Gross,” she spits. “I need to focus and finish my work.” 

She turns away from him and focuses her attention back on the sheet in front of her, and then she feels his hand slide across her stomach. “Ben!” she barks. She turns around to see him pulling his shirt off, smirking at her. 

He eases her back on the floor of his room, kissing her stomach. “Come on, Devi.” 

Dammit, how was he able to read her so well? Her heart was _pounding_ with desire, her head spinning with the need to get him close, closer, closer, to _never ever_ let him go. 

But she can’t tell him all this. She’s got _some_ dignity, after all. 

“I have to finish my physics notes, Ben.” 

“I’ll make you feel good, I promise,” he says, running his tongue along the edge of her panties and _fuck,_ she thinks she might spontaneously combust. “You can take a break. Unwind a little, please?” 

She shakes, she’s so close already, and he’s not even _doing_ anything. Other than touching her and setting her on fire. He grabs her notebook and shoves it to the side, pencil following the same path. “Please, Devi?” 

He glances up at her, his blue eyes dark with desire. She groans, head falling back. “I can’t believe you,” she breathes. 

His fingers undo the button of her jeans quickly, pulling them off of her, and her skin erupts in goosebumps as he runs his hands up along the length of her legs. “What do you mean?” he asks, leaning down and pressing soft kisses to the inside of her thigh. 

“You’ve—you’ve made me some depraved woman or something. I still have _work_ to do, Ben.” 

Ben trails his finger along the edge of her underwear. “I mean, I know I’d rather work on you.” 

She laughs, a breathless exhale of sound. “Don’t use lines on me.” 

“Are they lines if they’re true?” he murmurs, before he dips his tongue and flicks his tongue over her clit through her panties. 

“Fuck!” she swears, grappling at his shoulders. “Ben,” she gasps.

He hooks his hands around the edge of her panties and pulls them off, tossing them over his shoulder and settling himself between her thighs. His breath puffs onto her and god, she’s embarrassingly close already. “I need to know, before I do this, are you ok with it, Devi?” 

Her heart is in her throat, and she can scarcely see two feet in front of her but—fuck, she wants this, like she’s never wanted anything else in her life. She wants _him,_ wants his hands and mouth on hers and wants to touch him and fall over the edge with him. 

“Yes,” she chokes out, the rest of the words seizing up in her throat. 

He smiles broadly at her. Her entire body is tense, waiting for him, but she thinks she will find his lips on her, so when he presses them to the inside of her ankle, she bucks in surprise.

He trails up her leg, alternating pressing kisses on each leg, and if anything, it heightens the tension, and she can’t even keep her eyes open. God, she wants him, wants him to touch her. 

He sucks _hard_ at the skin of her thigh, and she squeaks in surprise, jolting against him. She can feel his hair on the inside of her thigh and _fuck,_ why was that the hottest thing about the whole thing? 

“Ben,” she breathes, staring at the ceiling, “please.” 

His only answer is a kiss on her thigh, and then he flattens his tongue against her and licks up and she crumbles. 

_“God,”_ she breathes, grappling for something, for him. She feels something on the side of her, and grabs at it, but it snaps in her hands, and she looks down to see she’s broken her pencil in half, and she tosses it to the side, looking for something else to grab. She twists her hands into his hair, well aware that she’s probably tugging too hard, but she can’t—she can’t think of anything else. 

Devi prides herself on her sharp mind, but apparently all it takes is Ben going down on her to reduce her to a puddle, to nothing more than a mess of emotions. Her brain is fried, and her world has narrowed down to his hands on her hips, his mouth on her. 

He flicks his tongue over her, and when she closes her eyes it feels like everything in the world has condensed down to this one moment, to this one feeling. 

She feels his lips curve against her and realizes he’s smirking, so she presses her heel into his back. “If you don’t do _something,_ I’m going to chop off your dick,” she groans. 

He laughs, the exhale of air against her clit almost sending her over the edge alone. “Wouldn’t be very fun for you, would it?” he asks. He traces her folds with his tongue and she pants, fingers digging into his scalp ever tighter. 

He drags his tongue over ever inch of her slowly, savoring her, and fuck, she’s sure it’s supposed to be romantic and flattering, but all she can think about it how it’s not _enough._ When he wraps his lips around her and sucks, she shrieks, moaning, her hips bucking forward. His hands come up and press her into the floor, fingers digging painfully into her hips, and it only adds that sharper edge of pleasure she likes. 

What is scary is she’s finding she likes almost anything when it comes to being with Ben. He draws a cacophony of sounds out of her, and even though she tries to choke them back, there’s something about him that makes her _feel._

Ben’s tongue moves slowly, wide flat strokes that make her spiral, and she keens when he slips his tongue into her, for just a fraction of a second. Devi pants when he backs off, rubbing a circle into her hip, and while she wants him back on her, she needs a second to breath, so she’s grateful for this small reprieve.

“Did you know that the clitoris has, on average, 8,000 nerve endings?” he says. 

“What? How do you know that?” 

“Did some reading,” he says easily, ducking down and sucking at her thigh again. 

“You—you read up on this?” 

He grins at her. “I’ll tell you all about it some other time. Right now, I want to know about you. Can you feel me?” 

She gasps, eyes flying open. She looks down at him and it’s too much, his eyes boring into hers from where he’s nestled in the cradle of her legs. “What?” she asks again. 

“Don’t hold back, Devi,” he says, winding his hand from her hip to press against her clit. She reacts instantly, arching against his touch, and on instinct, she chokes back the moan that bubbles out of her mouth. “Let go.” He touches her again and the moan spills out of her, thick and heady. 

“I know you can feel me. Pay attention. I want to hear it.” 

He ducks his head down, and strokes his tongue over her, firmly, and she can’t help it, she tugs on his hair and groans, a choked out sound that ends in a gasp as he swirls his tongue around her clit. 

“Ben, _Ben,”_ she says. His name is the only word she remembers, the only word left in existence for her. She wants to be ashamed that he’s reduced her to nothing more than pure sensation, that he’s drawn such a vicious, almost alive desire out of her, but she just wants him, she just wants him to make her fall apart and wants him to be there when she breaks. 

She focuses all her energy on him, on the warm breath washing over her, and when his tongue gently enters her, twisting and rubbing, she nearly screams. 

He drags his teeth carefully over her clit as he twists his tongue inside of her, and she shatters. 

She falls, and he is there to catch her, holding onto her gently. Her back arches, like a bow strung too tight, and she thinks she has snapped as well. Her vision blacks for a second, before she comes back to earth, her chest heaving. It takes her a moment for her to regain her bearings, and when she does, everything feels oversensitized. She can barely move, even the brush of Ben’s fingers on her hip too much for her systems. 

“Well,” he says, speaking into her thigh. “I take it that was a good reaction.” 

If Devi could move right now, she swears she’d kick him in the head. He’s got an entirely too smug look on his face, and so she scrounges up the energy to flip him off. “Don’t get a big head, Gross,” she sighs, head thudding back against the carpet on the floor. 

Ben gently slides his hands up her body—perfectly aware of how sensitive she is, and kisses her neck. She realizes in that moment he’s wearing his jeans and she’s still got her shirt and bra on and _god,_ it felt so good she didn’t even register that.

“I won’t,” he smiles into her skin, tracing circles on her shoulder absently. 

Devi runs her hand through his hair. “Sorry I pulled on your hair.” 

He shakes his head. “Don’t be.” He grins, cocky, but bright. “I kinda liked it.” 

It’s such a _Ben_ thing to say she can’t be blamed for the fact that she bursts out laughing, shoulders shaking. “Why are you like this?” 

“By this, do you mean devastatingly handsome and great in bed?” 

“By this, I mean ridiculously annoying and the bane of my existence,” she deadpans. 

“Wow, David, I can’t believe you’re so mean to the guy who just gave you an orgasm. Like, seriously, have some manners.” 

She whacks him lightly on the head. “Shut the hell up, Ben. And get off me. I need to get dressed and finish up my physics notes.” 

He rolls off of her and she grabs her clothes, tugging them on. When she spins around, looking for her pencil, she finds Ben holding it, smirking. 

She flops back down on the floor and snatches it back from him. “Fuck,” she sighs, looking at it. 

He laughs. “I can’t believe you broke your pencil.” 

“I should have stabbed you with it,” she mutters. 

“Why do you keep threatening me with death after we’ve had sex? Like, you are aware killing me means you don’t get any more sex.” 

Devi tosses the broken pencil aside and fishes in her bag for another one. “It’s the 21st century, Gross. There’s more than one way to have an orgasm.” 

By the way his eyes darken as he scans her body, she can tell he’s thinking about it. “No,” she says, pointing at him. “Put your fucking shirt on, and let me finish my physics notes. Seriously, you’re ridiculous.” 

He rolls his eyes. “Fine. You’re boring,” he sighs.

“I am not boring. Take that back!” she snaps. 

“Oh, I’m sorry. You’re a delight.” He slips his shirt on and leans back against his bed. 

“Was that your first time?” 

Devi glances at him from where she’s logging back into her laptop. “What?” 

He flushes pink. “You know, your first time…” 

“Having someone go down on me?” she says, arching an eyebrow. 

“Yeah.” 

Devi bites her lip, debating on whether or not to tell him the truth. She decides to be honest. “Yeah.” 

Ben startles. “Really?” he says, shock spreading over his face. “I—I expected—” 

“For Paxton to have done it?” she finishes for him. 

He runs his hands down the sides of his pants. “Yeah.” 

“Well, I didn’t sleep with him until junior year,” she says. “And even then, it was halfway through, and it took a while for, you know, it to actually feel good, and by the time we got anywhere near doing that, he was leaving for UCLA and we broke up.” 

His eyes soften. “I’m sorry.” 

She shrugs. “Don’t be. We’re friends, and we broke up nicely. Probably the cleanest one we could have had.” 

Ben laughs. “God, you really know how to keep things clinical, don’t you?” 

She smacks him. “God, Gross, you make me sound like a monster.” 

“Not a monster. Just—certain.” 

She ignores the fondness that creeps into his voice when he says that and turns her attention back to her physics notes. “Whatever, idiot. Come on. Finish your work.” 

* * *

The next day, when Devi jumps into the shower, she’s running a razor over her legs when she notices the dark, purple spots on her thighs. She lightly hits her head against the shower wall and sighs. “Really, Ben?” she asks, to no one in particular. 

She gingerly touches the mark, careful not to hurt herself, and when she does, she remembers Ben’s hands and his lips on her skin, his warm breath on her and the way she shook as she came.

She bites her lip and resolves to text him when she gets out of the shower to meet up after school. It’s like she’s addicted, addicted to the taste of him and the way he touches her, sure, certain, like he knows how to make her fall apart without question. She wants him already, and the hunger hasn’t abated like she thought it would. 

In fact, the exact _opposite_ has happened, in which she only wants him more and more with each passing day, the drag of his skin against hers and his blue, blue eyes, in which she wants that gorgeous smile to be directed at her and to make butterflies erupt in her stomach.

(she wonders if it ever will, because this longing, she hasn’t felt it since malibu, since sophomore year, but she’d dealt with those emotions but suppressing them and killing them and burying herself in paxton until—)

Devi forces those thoughts out of her mind and opts for a skirt today. It’s the easiest way to avoid pressing against her hickeys and to be honest, she’s still a bit sore. She’s been sleeping with Ben more regularly than—she’s been sleeping with anyone, honestly, and her body isn’t used to it. 

It’s the good kind of soreness, obviously, but it’s still sore. 

She stops thinking about Ben—although that’s a harder thing to do that to say, because when is she _not_ thinking about Ben—and heads to class, managing to keep the image of his head between her thighs out of her mind for approximately ten seconds, once she steps into AP Euro. 

Ben glances over her and smirks, his eyes tracing her legs. They linger, and she nearly panics for a second, wondering if her marks are visible under her skirt before realizing he’s just looking at her with that same look of smugness mixed with desire. Devi looks away from him, pursing her lips together so she doesn’t smile. 

His gaze is heavy and the tension, to her, at least, is palpable. When he corrects her naming of the cell structure in AP Biology, all she can think about is shutting him up by kissing him and dragging him into some dark room. 

Fuck, in all of their classes, it happens, especially in AP Bio, because their teacher decides to mix up the class into new lab partners for a lab, during their lab period. In the flurry of class activity, there’s plenty of excuses for him to touch her, sending her heart pounding and making her brain stop. It’s innocent to anyone else, a tap on her hand to ask her a question, arms brushing as they work on the lab, but to her, these touches are dizzying, and she realizes she’s given him so much power. He can make her feel this way with barely trying. She knew what he could make her feel like _trying,_ and that was insane. He isn’t even _doing anything_ right now.

The worst part of it happens at lunch. 

“Hey, Devi,” Fabiola says. “Can I borrow your physics notes? I got coffee all over mine this morning.” 

“Yeah, sure, Fab,” Devi says, reaching into her bag and pulling them out. She hands them to her friend and turns her attention back to her lunch when a shadow crosses her table. She looks up to see Ben standing there. 

“What do you want, Gross?” she asks, wrinkling her nose and pretending she hasn’t fucked him. Multiple times. 

“The history project, David. I just wanted to make sure you remembered Shapiro said he was going to put the schedule up tomorrow in class.” 

She sighs. “Yeah, I know.” 

He nods, opening his mouth to say something else, but Fabiola beats him to it. “Devi,” she says, flipping to the last page of her physics notes. “Why is your handwriting so terrible here?” 

Devi’s mouth snaps shut and she stares at Fabiola with wide eyes. Eleanor, who’s sitting on Fabiola’s other side, leans over to glance at the notes. “Yeah. It’s shaky. Your handwriting is normally perfect.”

“Really?” Ben smirks. “I would have thought you would have had chicken scratch when taking notes, for all it helps you in beating me, David.” 

She glares at him, sure that if her skin were paler, she would be beet red. Her heart is _pounding_ in her ears, blood rushing, and suddenly, all she can think about is the marks on her thighs and Ben’s mouth, which is currently smirking at her. 

“It’s just weird,” Fab says again, and Devi prays for some god above to take pity on her. “It changes so suddenly.” 

“Why would that be, David?” Ben smirks, He leans on the table, towards her, and she stares at him. 

He fucking knows why that is, and if she could get away with it, she would slap him across the face. As it is, her gaze drifts back down to his mouth, and now, she really fucking wants to drag him off into a dark corner and shove that mouth between her thighs, putting it to some good use. 

She grips the table tightly, trying to appear normal, but all she can think about is his tongue and his lips and god, his eyes, glittering at her with mirth and something deeper, a promise. 

Something writhes alive in her gut, something dark and desperate and dangerous, and holy _fuck,_ why was even the mere presence of him making her body react like this? 

“I think my hand must have gotten tired,” she says, not even turning to face Eleanor and Fabiola as she answers, eyes locked on his. “I copied a bunch of notes over last night anyway.” 

“I’m sure you did, David,” he smirks. “I’ll see you around. Try not to overwork yourself.” He shoots her wink, and saunters off, and her mouth drops open, because fuck, why was that _ridiculously_ attractive? 

“Fuck off, Gross,” she says back, but it comes out strangled even to her own ears. 

Fabiola places a hand on Devi’s arm carefully. “Devi, you look like you’re about to pass out. Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine,” she says, waving off Fab’s concern and turning to face her friends. Eleanor’s eyes narrow as Devi meets them, and she ducks her head. “Just a bit tired.” 

“Hmm,” Eleanor says, but she drops it. 

Devi tries to focus back on her friends, and their conversation, but unbidden, she finds herself tracing the hickeys on her thighs, over and over again, flashes of what happened yesterday, the ghost of his mouth and hands on her, running through her mind. 

God, she can’t wait for today to end. 

* * *

Ben’s messing around on his laptop, watching some reruns of his favorite _Rick and Morty_ episodes, when it dings in the corner, a notification popping up to show he’s received a message on his phone from Devi. 

He picks up his phone, swiping his thumb across the screen to see that Devi’s texted him about the history project. 

**_chat:_ ** _david_

 **devi:** I made some edits to the script and sent it to Shapiro

 **ben:** Without consulting me?

 **devi:** It’s fine

Ben sighs, tapping the phone icon on the top of the screen to call her. She picks up instantly. “Ben?” 

“What did you change?” he asks, in lieu of greeting. 

“Oh my god,” Devi says. “I literally like, changed the dialogue a little bit, ok? None of the content, relax.” He can practically _see_ her eyes rolling, and the thought makes a smile rise, however unbidden. 

“Why do you have to be so uptight about _everything,_ Gross? Wasn’t getting some regularly supposed to make you less stressed?” 

Ben leans back on his pillows, smirking. “The same could be said for you, you know.” 

“Oh, shut up. I was already a sweetheart. You didn’t do anything.” 

He scoffs. “I’m sorry, I didn’t do anything? Physics notes?” 

She splutters through the phone, and he smirks, enjoying how flustered she gets. Ben hadn’t expected that she would be this easy to rile up, but he loves doing it, every time. 

(he doesn’t really want to think about _why_ he loves riling her up, seeing the color flush her cheeks and her tongue hurl sharp insults at him, because he was a fucking maso—)

“Look,” she says, after a few moments of gasping at him. “I’m telling you, the script is fine. We don’t have to worry about it.” 

Ben sighs. “Fine, but if we don’t do well on this, I’m blaming you.”

“Please. You expect us to get anything less than a perfect score and show up that classroom of Neanderthals?”

Ben barks out a laugh. “Ok, fair enough. Although, humans aren’t actually descended from Neanderthals, you know.” 

“I know, Ben. The multiregional hypothesis, right? I’m not an idiot.” 

“Unlike everyone else in our AP Euro class?’ 

“Oh my god!” she says, and he can hear a smack in the background, as if she’s smacked her hand against her forehead. “I almost wanted to rip my eardrums out at the presentations today.” 

“Yeah, the way some of these kids put their things together, you’d never know this was a feeder into Ivy schools.” 

“Well, thanks to my insane PowerPoint skills, we should ace this project.” 

“For sure, it was entirely you and your PowerPoint skills,” he deadpans. 

“Damn straight,” she laughs. “We’re presenting on Thursday, right?” 

He nods, and then remembers she can’t see him. “Yeah, so we have a little bit of time. To memorize it, at least, because we’re _not_ using a script.” 

“Ugh, do we have to? The newest episode of _Riverdale_ airs on Wednesday night.” 

“Barring your truly _horrendous_ taste in TV shows, don’t pretend like you don’t already have half of this memorized. You’re not the type to slack on your homework, even if it’s not _quite_ as good as mine.” 

“Are you seriously insulting _my_ taste in TV shows when you watch _Rick and Morty?_ That’s like, the most hypocritical thing I’ve ever heard!” 

“First of all,” Ben says, sitting up in bed so he’s pressed against his pillows and sliding his laptop off his lap, closing it, “you should understand that _Rick and Morty_ is a cultural phenomenon, and a cult classic now. Unlike that soapy teen drama you watch. I don’t know what I expected, though, you clearly have _horrible_ taste in TV shows.” 

“I’m not taking advice from someone who watches _Westworld_ unironically, Gross.” 

“Your best friend watches _Westworld!”_ he points out, ridiculously offended. 

“Yeah, for Thandie Newton, which makes Fabiola valid. If you watch for the plot, hmm, sorry, you’re not worthy of my time.” 

He snorts. “I wouldn’t have expected you to watch it anyways, David. It’s intellectual, made for people who are smart.” 

“Oh yeah, and boring as hell.” 

“Not true! Intellectual shows can be good. I like _The Good Place.”_

She’s silent for a moment, and he wishes, viscerally, that he could see her, see the way her tongue runs over her lips like it always does when she’s thinking about something, trace black rivers in her ebony hair, plot every single one of the marks on her body like a constellation. 

She speaks then, pulling him out of his daydreams. “Ok, you’re valid for that choice. That’s the only _good_ intellectual TV show out there.” 

“Besides _The West Wing._ That show is really good.” 

She laughs then, and like it always does, warmth pools in his stomach at her laugh. He wants to be there and pull that laugh out of her more often, to see her smiling at him with blinding warmth and to make his brain fry with her gorgeous curve of her lips. 

“Fine, whatever, Gross. _The Good Place_ is really good, I agree. Not as good as _Brooklyn Nine-Nine,_ but still really good.” 

Ben’s mouth drops open in shock. “Are you serious? You think _Brooklyn Nine-Nine_ is better than _The Good Place?_ Are _you_ living in The Bad Place? What kind of delusional hellscape is your mind?” 

“Oh, fuck off,” she snickers. “It’s just an undeniable fact. _Brooklyn Nine-Nine_ is funnier than _The Good Place_ and has better relationship growth.” 

“Oh my god,” Ben groans. “I can’t believe you’re _that_ person.” 

“What person?” 

“Look, David, I don’t know if you managed to pick up on this, but _The Good Place_ is literally a life-changing show. It’s a comedic show about the _ethics of life._ Like, the fact that it was even a success is insane, but it was a flawless show on top of that.” 

She snorts. “Ok, sorry, are we talking about the same show? Halloween heists, Ben. _The Halloween heists.”_

“That’s not even an argument!” he protests. “Look, first of all, _The Good Place_ literally takes the concept of Sartre’s ‘hell is other people’ and flips that, postulating that people make each other better, that we push each other to grow and try to become better each day. Plus, the whole _plot_ of the show is about character and relationship growth! Eleanor, Tahani, Chidi, and Jason all change. Fuck, even Michael and Janet do!” 

“Ok, I see that,” Devi says, and he hears shuffling in the background, as if she’s climbing into bed, “but you have to admit, _Brooklyn Nine-Nine_ also does a fantastic job with character growth. Obviously with Jake’s growth and emotional maturity, but beyond that, Amy’s confidence and improvement in learning to trust her own abilities and not seek approval outwardly, Rosa’s gradual acceptance of her sexuality. Hell, they should have won an award for how they handled Rosa’s sexuality _alone._ Not to mention how revolutionary they treat their queer characters: like they’re normal people.” 

Ben tilts his head. “I have two words for you, Devi: Eleanor Shellstrop.” 

Devi sighs. “I obviously can’t convince you that I’m right, Gross, but, whatever. I prefer _Brooklyn Nine-Nine,_ but _The Good Place_ is a fantastic TV show to like. Now, just don’t tell me you listen to country or something.” 

He smirks. “Of course not, David. I have way more sophisticated taste in music than that.” 

“Oh god,” she moans, and he knows she’s putting her head in her hands. “You’re the kind of asshole who listens to Paganini, aren’t you?” 

“Excuse me, which one of us plays the musical instrument?” 

“First of all, you play the fucking piano, so shut the hell up, and that _still_ doesn’t excuse your terrible taste in music. God, do you like anything released before 1800?” 

“Hey!” he protests. “I listen to regular music. Not like, bubblegum pop, but regular music.” 

“Hey,” she snaps. “Don’t disparage bubblegum pop. It arguably _built_ the music industry to where it is today.” 

“Fine, fine, David,” he says, rolling his eyes. God, he wishes he were there to see her snap at him. At least then he’d be able to kiss her and distract her in other ways, forcing her to pay attention to him _while_ she’s yelling at him. 

He shifts, uncomfortable, and focuses back on the conversation. “So, what _do_ you listen to?” 

He knows the answer, because of course he does. He and Devi know way more about each other than he would have expected, despite the fact that they had spent most of their time together fighting, and bickering. 

(barring, of course, those few weeks in sophomore year when the fire had burned differently between them, no longer antagonistic and vicious but warm, and bright, and then it had died out in the wake of malibu and a thousand things that he nev—)

But the point still stands. Weirdly enough, he knows Devi, and she knows him. 

“Marina, and Hozier, mostly,” she says.

He can hear the rustle of cloth as she shifts under the covers and good god, he wants more than anything in the world to be there with her, to cover that beautiful pink mouth with his own and map every inch of her body with his fingers, to see her blink at him in the haze of pleasure and to lose himself in the symphony of her moans. 

He grips his phone so tightly he’s scared he’ll break it, and drags his attention away from the fantasies swimming in front of his eyes to focus on her voice. 

“Alternative? And you say I’m the pretentious one, David,” he snickers. 

“Their lyrics are beautiful and you cannot deny that.” She speaks with such certainty that he knows he would never deny her anything, not if she asked him for it. 

“Fine,” he laughs. “I’ll give you that.” 

“Yeah well, I wouldn’t expect you to know them, considering every single person whose music you listen to died of dysentery.” 

“Ok, that’s not true! I like Dr. Dre, Tupac.” 

Devi bursts out laughing, and the sound is like an explosion in his heart, warmth permeating every cell in his chest. “You listen to 90’s hip hop? You, a rich white Jewish kid from the San Fernando Valley, listen to 90’s hip hop? God, Gross, are you _trying_ to be a stereotype?” 

“Look,” Ben says, smiling. “I think Tupac makes excellent points. Just because I grew up privileged doesn’t mean I have to limit my life experiences to that.” 

She snorts. “Whatever you say, Gross.” He’s not about to admit to her that he _did_ start listening ironically, as exactly the white kid she’s talking about, but over time, he started to develop an appreciation for the music and the messages in it. 

“I do say, David.” 

She laughs at that, soft and quiet, and all he can think about is dragging a hand through that impossibly soft hair and tilting her chin up, kissing her, until she melts into him, taking the time to know her so that he would know her anywhere, in the dark, know her at the ends of the world by touch alone. 

They chat for a bit longer that night, and yet all his mind can think of is wishing she were here with him, tangled up in his bed (he still can’t get the image of her wrapped in his sheets, the white stark against her umber skin, out of his mind) and her limbs sliding over his own, watching her face as she tips over the edge, surrenders herself to the pleasure he gave her. He nearly begs her to come over to his place, just so he can see that, but manages to stop himself, ending the call before he can. 

Ben groans, tossing his phone on the bed, running a hand down his face and rolling over, dropping his face into the covers, trying to suffocate himself. 

Why couldn’t he get her out of his mind? 

Well, it’s not exactly his fault. She’s a ridiculously hot girl who’s sleeping with him, and he’s a hormonal teenage boy, and all he can think about is the length of her leg, hooking over his side, the curve and dip of her waist, the way her mouth parts as she shatters. 

Ben grabs his pillow and stuffs it over his head, squeezing his eyes shut in a futile attempt to get the images of Devi out of his mind. There’s nothing beyond this than physical attraction, of course. He likes sleeping with her. She’s just using him for sex. No strings. 

He nods firmly to himself, feeling a bit better at the reminder. 

He’s just about to fall asleep when he realizes something. 

_They broke another rule._

* * *

Ben’s standing at his locker when Devi walks up to him, hands twisting nervously on the straps of her backpack. “Hey,” she says quietly. 

He turns to greet her, but the words die on his tongue when he catches sight of her. She’s shifting on the balls of her foot, skittish as a colt, and he would reach a hand out to comfort her, but that’s not what he’s here to do, and besides, he’s worried she might take off if he moves. 

“Hey,” he says back. “What’s up?” 

She gnaws on her lip, fiddling with her hands. “Can you drive me home after school today? I want to talk about something.” 

Ben frowns. “Yeah. Of course.” He decides to take his chances and steps forward, slightly. “Devi, what’s wrong?” 

She shakes her head. “I just—we need to talk. I’ll meet you in the lobby after school.” 

“Oh—okay,” he stammers out, but by the time the worlds spill out, she’s already done, turning on her hell and walking away from him. 

For the rest of the day, his mind is occupied by what it could be. Did he—did he push her too far with anything? Fuck, he’d never forgive himself if he made her do something she didn’t want to, if he pushed her to something she wasn’t ready for.

His knee bounces underneath the desk in every single one of his classes, and he’s so wrapped up in what it could possibly be that Devi wants to talk to him about, he can’t even spar with her that day. He’s more worried, worried that she never wants to be around him. 

After what feels like both forever and no time at all, the end of the school day rolls around, and while Ben normally likes to linger a bit, escaping the annoying block of cars that always line up and suffocate the campus roads, he can’t wait another second. 

He arrives at the lobby first and pulls his phone out, foot tapping as he waits for her, and when he finally sees her, it’s like a wave of relief and his nerves multiply at the same time. “Ready?” he asks. 

She nods. 

They walk to his car silently, and he doesn’t want to push her, doesn’t want to force her to say anything she doesn’t want, but dear god, he needs to know what’s going on. 

He makes it until she’s buckled into his car, and then he can’t take it anymore. “So….” he starts, trailing off as he pulls out of the parking lot, and heads to her house. “What did you want to talk about?” 

Devi sighs, glancing down at her hands before brushing back a strand of hair. “We broke a rule yesterday, Ben.” 

“Oh, thank god,” he breathes, unable to hold back. 

“What?” she says brow furrowed. 

“I was—worried that it was something I had done,” he admits, glancing over at her as they pull up at a red light. “You know, I had push—pushed you into something you didn’t want to do and I was just feeling absolutely terrible and—” 

“Oh, God, no, Ben,” she says, reaching a hand and laying it on his arm. “God, no. You—you didn’t pressure me into anything. I promise.” 

She smiles at him, and there’s not a trace of falseness in it, and he relaxes. “Oh. Ok then. Yeah,” he says, drawing his attention back to their conversation. “We broke a rule.” 

Devi sighs. “Ben, we’ve been doing this for what, a week? If we can’t even follow the rules for that long, what’s the point of continuing this?” 

His hand tightens on the steering wheel as the weight of what she is saying sinks onto his shoulders. “You—you want to stop this? Us?” 

Devi glances at the window at her house as they pull up to it. He stops the car and turns off the ignition. “Devi,” he says again. “I’m asking you, do you want to stop this?” 

She looks at him. “I—I don’t know. If we can’t follow the rules…?” 

“Devi, it’s not like I proposed marriage. We talked about TV shows. You know there’s nothing preventing us from being friends. Us and being friends are not mutually exclusive.” 

“Oh really? Then what have the past 12 years been for?” she jokes. 

Ben rolls his eyes. “I’m still going to want to beat you no matter what. We can be friends.” 

Devi sighs, looking away. “I just—I can’t do this Ben. I’m sorry.” 

She exits the car and slams the door shut, leaving him staring at her in shock. She doesn’t even spare him a second glance as she enters her house, and he heaves, sitting back in his chair. 

He doesn’t—he doesn’t want this thing between them to end. It’s barely started, and he—he needs her. Needs her, for at least a little while longer, and he doesn’t think she wants to end it either. 

It’s just scary, and when things get scary for Devi, she runs away. She runs, because she can’t handle it, and so he has to chase after her, to make her understand what she is giving up. 

He’s unbuckling his seatbelt and out of the car before he can even begin to second guess what he’s about to do. 

He’s knocking at the door of her house, praying she answers before whatever feeble courage he’s managed to muster up flees him. 

She answers and sighs heavily, “Ben, I—” 

“Devi,” he says, stepping into the house and pulling her to him. His hands trace circles into her hip bones and she melts into his touch, like he knew she would. God, she’s becoming the only thing he ever wants to study for the rest of his life, the only thing he wants to learn about. There’s more discovery to be done in the plane of her back than any place on earth. “You don’t really want to stop this, do you?” 

She looks up at him and he can see the answer in her eyes. He and Devi; they do not deal in words, in sugary sweet tales spun with cotton candy lips, they deal in moments and actions, in touches and brands that show how they feel, what they want. 

And so she doesn’t need to say anything for him to know she actually _doesn’t_ want this to end, that she’s just running scared. “Because if you do,” he starts, deciding to play along for a bit, “I’m going to show you what you’re missing out on. Maybe you’ll reconsider.” 

Her eyes widen and her lashes flutter, and as her mouth parts to tell him off, he can’t take it, needs to _feel_ her against him. 

He slides his hand up her back and covers her mouth with his, and she moans into his mouth. His blood pumps, sluggishly in his ears, and his other hand sweeps down the curve of her back and pulls her into him, as close as she can possibly get. 

Devi, however, seems to have a functioning brain, and tears her mouth away from his, gasping, fingers digging delightfully firmly into his shoulders. 

“Not, not here,” she gasps. 

Ben understands what she’s saying in a second. Considering he doesn’t want to be caught in the blast zone if her mother comes home and finds him kissing her (or worse) in her living room, he knows. 

He tugs her along with him, up the stairs, and Devi’s eyes widen. “Ben!” she hisses, as they climb the stairs. 

“Devi,” he smirks back at her. 

He opens the door to her room—what he thinks is her room, at least, judging by the bedspread—and pulls her in, quickly locking the door behind her. 

“We can’t do this in my room!” she hisses. 

Ben arches an eyebrow at her. “When is your mom going to be home?” 

Devi gapes at him. “She—she’s usually home around 6.” 

“Perfect,” he smirks, and then he pushes her up against her desk. 

“Ben!” she gasps, just before his mouth descends on her neck. 

“Oh,” she moans, tilting her neck. He presses slow, dragging kisses to her neck until he finds that one spot near her pulse point that drives her absolutely wild, and scrapes his teeth over it, sucking on it hard, hard enough to leave a mark. 

He wants to litter her body with spots, wants her to think of him all the time, like he thinks of her. He wouldn’t mind so much if she stopped concealing them either, if everyone knew that he left them on the smooth column of her throat, but he knows she needs to, if only to hide it from her mother. 

That doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to suck hickeys into the skin of her throat, her stomach, her legs, every inch of her, so she thinks about him all the time. He wants his touch to linger on her. 

Ben brushes her hair out of the way and flicks his tongue over her neck, and Devi gasps, arching into him deliciously. He slides his hands across her stomach, feeling it pebble in the wake of his touch. 

He _loves_ the way she responds to him, so strongly, and he doesn’t want to give this up, ever. 

He raises his hands a bit and then her shirt is off, tossed to the side of the room, and he drags the straps of her bra down her shoulders, following the straps with his tongue. He tugs the bra off easily, tossing it in the same direction as her shirt. 

“Wait,” she gasps. 

He stops instantly, though he’s still pressing her into the desk. “What?” he breathes. 

Devi looks at him for a second, black hair tousled around her shoulders. “I—I forgot,” she breathes, before she’s curling her hand around his neck and crashing her lips against his. 

Ben slides his hands down her legs and hoists her up just the slightest bit, dropping her onto the desk. Her legs lock around his back and her ankles cross, and for a second he’s vividly reminded of homecoming before the scrape of Devi’s nails across his waist removes the rest of his ability to think. 

She runs her hands down his chest and curls her fingers into the hem of his shirt, pulling it off of him, and the second it’s off of him her mouth attaches itself to his collarbone, sucking as her fingers trace down his front, mapping out his chest. 

He clutches her side. It’s not the first time she’s done this but—it gets his blood rushing, every time. When her fingernail scrapes across his chest he drags her closer to him. “Devi,” he groans. 

Starting from the small of her back, he spider-walks his fingers up her spine, tapping at the vertebrate along the way, enjoying how she sucks at his skin harder when he does so. When he finally reaches the nape of her neck, he gently guides her face to his so that he can kiss her again. 

It’s soft and sweet, the kiss, a massive contrast to the hand that’s sliding down her skin, which feels like it’s on fire, to tug off her skirt and panties. 

She gasps when the cool material of the desk touches her skin and carves trails into his back, stinging. He knows that when he showers tomorrow they’ll hurt, and he couldn’t care less, because he wants to remember she left them. 

Devi drags her own hand down his chest, flicking open the button of his jeans and for once, neither of them are speaking, lost in each other. 

“Ben,” she whispers against his lips. “I—I have—” 

“Where?” he mumbles. 

“Bottom bedside drawer,” she gasps. “Behind the markers.” 

He pulls away from her, ignoring the screaming in his gut that tells him to go back to her, to kiss her until she knows nothing but him, and stay with her, but he ducks down and rifles through her drawer, locating the box and pulling a condom out of it.

“Behind the markers,” he smirks, ducking down to kiss her. “Very mature choice.” 

“Oh, please,” she says, gasping when he slots himself between her legs again. “It needs to be where my mother can never find it.” 

“Can’t imagine how awkward that talk would be,” he says, clutching her as she pushes his pants and boxers down. 

“You dear, sweet, white boy, we wouldn’t be talking, if that happened. I would be dead.” 

He laughs, tugging her closer to him. “I’m glad.” 

Even now, she manages to roll her eyes, snorting, “I’m sure you ar—oh!” 

The last part of her word breaks off as he thrusts into her, hands tightening on her hips, the curve in between his thumb and forefinger gripping her like she’s the only thing in the world. 

Because she _is._ Right now, his world has narrowed to nothing else but _her,_ nothing but the beat of her heart against his, her skin underneath his hands, her lips, parted slightly, the drag of her heel against his back. “Oh,” she sighs, relaxing into him. 

Ben buries his face into her neck, biting gently at it in an effort to hold himself back. She feels _amazing,_ and it’s too good for him. He’s not going to come, though, not before her, and bites his tongue until he feels the initial lapse in control subside. 

Devi mumbles something, although he can’t quite catch it, and he removes his face from her neck to look at her. 

“What—what was that?” he says. 

“I said, _move,”_ she says, nailing digging into his biceps. 

Ben’s head is spinning, and he can barely think straight, but right, right, she needs him to move. 

He leans down and kisses her. He pulls slightly back and then thrusts shallowly into her, but she reacts as though a bomb has gone off in her systems, gasping, her legs tightening around his hips. 

Cataloguing every single sound she makes, memorizing what she likes and what she does, he brings her to the edge and holds her there, enjoying the way her walls flutter around him. She’s close, he can tell, but he wants to draw her pleasure out just a little longer, keep her waiting for him. 

Studying her has become his favorite pastime, the way her lashes flutter and her mouth parts, the rivers of soft skin he wants to sear into his mind. He wonders if there is such a way so that he could spend the rest of his life learning her, an expert on every single inch of her body. 

As he tilts his hips slightly and pushes into her, her hand flies down and curls around the edge of the desk, gripping it so hard her knuckles pulse. “Th—there!” she gasps. 

“Where?” he asks, pretending he doesn’t know. Doesn’t know exactly how to set her off, how to make her feel good. 

“You know where, you asshole,” she gasps, and the statement is so Devi he can’t help but let out a strangled laugh. 

“Did you really want to give this up?” he asks, speeding up, thrusting into her quicker. 

She gasps, tossing her head back, and the column of her throat is begging for him to mark it, so he does, leaning forward and capturing the underside of her jaw with his lips. “N—no,” she breathes, the hand not gripping the desk dragging up to dig into his bicep painfully. “I—I didn’t.” 

“Tell me, Devi,” he says, hand curling around her back to pull her closer off the edge of the desk. It changes the angle slightly, and her fingers tighten on his bicep, her breathing becoming even more labored. It’s too much for him as well, and he’s grappling for control, holding on with just his fingertips before he follows her into oblivion. 

“Why did you run?” 

Leaning down and running his tongue across the curve of her neck, he waits for her answer, pushing forward a little harder and pressing into her even firmer when she doesn’t say anything. 

She keens, gasping. “I was scared.” 

“Of me?” 

“Not really. More like I just—just panicked.” 

He stops cold then, and she groans. “Ben, no.” 

“Devi, look at me.” She opens her eyes, and he runs a hand down the side of her face. “Don’t panic. Look at me.” 

She does. He starts moving, shallow, gentle thrusts that build her up to the edge quickly once more, and he keeps his eyes on her the whole time. “Look at me,” he whispers once more, and he doesn’t have to look anywhere else to see the exact moment that she falls apart around him. 

She groans his name into the air and it’s the best thing he’s ever heard, the sweetest sound to ever fall from her lips. It’s probably because it strokes some very male ego inside of him, but he loves knowing that _she_ knows it’s him who makes her fall apart like this, who makes her lose control. 

He follows her not a second later, gasping her name into her neck, and her fingers tighten on him. Looks like she likes it too. 

It’s a moment before he comes down from his high and realizes she’s pressing soft kisses on his neck, light and fleeting, but there. He wants to drag her even closer, but he physically can’t. She’s as close as she can be. 

(he wonders, had he not let her go after malibu, would she have been even closer? would he feel closer to her now, instead of so far apart? would there be something to—)

“So, he says, speaking into her neck. “Did I convince you?” 

Devi pulls back from him, legs loosening around his waist. She cups his jaw and looks at him, grinning coquettishly. “I don’t know. I think you might need to try a little harder.” 

He smirks, leaning down and kissing her firmly. 

He’s going to have to leave soon, he knows it. Her mother will be coming home soon and he needs to get back to his own house. 

But he has a moment here, with her. 

He’s going to take advantage of it, all he can. 

So he kisses a path down her body, fingers following in the wake of his lips, and gives her _exactly_ what she wants. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ya tycho brahe actually had a moose and it's the best thing in the world. your comments and kudos make me happier than ben shooting a basket!! come talk to me about the show! you can find me on tumblr: @[parkersedith](https://parkersedith.tumblr.com)


	3. act iii: you’ve got a way to keep me on your side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _(it’s almost involuntary, at this point, her mind drifting and thinking about him even while she’s drawing him. the edge of his jaw and the jump of his nose, the curve of his cheek and the jut of his lip. he’s ridiculously, stupidly attractive when he smiles at her and she fucking hates it, dear god. even when he’s fucking smirking at like the goddamn prick he is he’s attractive, and she wishes she didn’t think about him all the fucking time and—)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys!!! i'm back with another chapter! bit shorter than the other 2, at 10k, and y'all want to know the sad news?? i genuinely think this might be the shortest chapter in the fic asdfghjkl. i have zero word count control, we been knew, thanks. 
> 
> this is also the only chapter in the fic without any smut/sex scenes. it focuses heavily on devi's grief and emotions surrounding her father and it didn't feel appropriate putting it in here. the chapter also focuses a lot on devi and her mother, as i wanted to explore this dynamic more. 
> 
> i made devi interested in sketching as maitreyi is actually a really good artist, and i thought this would be a great little addition to add to my fic! thanks :))
> 
> i didn't tell you guys this, but i am south indian/tamil like devi, so all foods, cultures, customs, are pulled from my own life, so they're accurate. thanks!
> 
> this chapter is dedicated to my friends, @redpoland on tumblr. happy birthday!!! i hope you enjoyed this :))))
> 
> (chapter title from “i walk the line) by johnny cash)
> 
> k thanks guys, enjoy!!!!

Something’s wrong with Devi. 

Now, to be fair, he’s not  _ 100% _ sure about this, but he is more than 50% sure. Even that’s batting it a little low. He’s somewhere in the realm of 93-97% sure that something’s wrong with Devi. 

Those last few percentage points are born out of his own uncertainty more than anything she’s done. As much as Devi likes to think he doesn’t, he  _ does _ know her, and something’s going on with her. 

Barring the fact that she hadn’t texted him for the past few days to hook up, which he initially attributed to her...time of the month, or whatever, she’s been weird at school as well. 

Snapping at Eleanor and Fabiola randomly, sulking in classes, even refusing to rise to the bait of him correcting a few of her misspeaks in class. She doesn’t correct him either, which is all the more worrying. 

He’s noticing it even more and more in their classes, especially AP Biology, where their teacher has switched lab partners due to a group of kids in the back being particularly unruly. 

So now they’re lab partners in the very last table in the classroom (totally not his choice, being at the front is more conducive to learning and he always chooses to sit there when he  _ has _ a choice) and she’s been weird. Not just to him. Everyone notices it. 

So, he decides to do something about it. 

(it’s self-preservation, ok? he doesn’t want her biting his head off and snapping at him any longer than she’s done lately. it’s been making the quality of their lab work suffer, and if he’s getting into all the ivies he’s applying to, his grades cannot even take the slightest hit. there’s absolutely no part of him that’s worried about h—)

He slams his locker door shut, effectively cutting off that train of thought, and approaches Eleanor and Fabiola, who are standing by Fab’s locker, chatting about something. 

“Um, guys?” he says, curling his hands around the straps of his backpack nervously. 

They turn to him in surprise, and he can’t really blame them for that. Aside from being Devi’s nemesis...they don’t really talk. Other than the one time they did a project in sophomore year together—forget about that—Eleanor and Fabiola, they’re peripheral beings to him, only in relation to him because of the fact that he’s been locking horns with their best friend since kindergarten. 

Well, he did also start sleeping with her recently, but they don’t need to know that  _ at all. _

“Ben?” Eleanor says, wrinkling her nose. “What’s up?” 

“I was just—wondering if you guys knew what was up with Devi?” 

By the way they glance at each other, he can tell they know what he’s talking about. How could they not? He’d seen—like everyone else—when she’d snapped at them and stormed off in the middle of lunch. They’d been sitting together the next day, so he assumed they patched things up, but she’d been touchy lately. 

Fabiola’s eyes narrow. “Why do you care?” 

Ben’s tongue feels as dry as a desert, but he tilts his chin up and attempts to be more confident than he actually is. “We’re lab partners in AP Bio, and if she can’t learn to work with me our lab work is going to suffer even more. I’m not letting my grades drop because she’s PMSing or something.” 

Eleanor scowls at him. “First of all, fuck off. Secondly, it’s not that. You know Devi doesn’t let that shit get in the way of her schoolwork.” Eleanor’s expression changes, morphing into one of uncertainty, and her eyes shift over to catch Fabiola’s before sliding back to Ben. “We don’t know what it is, actually,” she admits. “We’ve been racking our brains trying to come up with something, but nothing so far. Her dad’s birthday was last month, so we maybe thought it could have something to do with that, but we actually have no clue.” 

He sighs, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Fine. I’ll ask her myself.” 

“Wait!” Eleanor calls. 

He turns around. “What?” 

She crosses her arms and steps forward, and for a second, Ben’s viscerally reminded of that Shakespeare quote, “ _ though she be but little, she is fierce,” _ when Eleanor looks at him. She’s got a fire blazing in her eyes and a look on her face that tells him she could knock him to the ground with one punch if she tried. 

“Be gentle with her,” she warns, her voice dark. “If you hurt her even more, I  _ will _ kill you, and I won’t even feel a second of guilt over it. Fabiola will help me bury your body where no one will ever find it, and I’ll erase every single piece of evidence that you ever existed.” 

He wants to laugh, but then he catches the hard look in Fabiola’s eyes, and the laugh dries up in terror. Ben swallows dryly. “Y—yeah,” he stammers out. “I get it. I’ll be careful.” 

“You better.” 

He turns around and walks away—he does  _ not _ run, shut up—from Eleanor and Fabiola, his mind running over what could have possibly caused such a radical shift in Devi’s behavior. 

She’s not the type of person to let her body’s pain affect her schoolwork, Eleanor is right. And even if it did, she’s still incredibly intelligent and capable of getting things done. No, he decides, as he walks to his car, this is something emotional, something beyond physical pain that Devi’s dealing with. 

Ben sighs as he tosses his backpack into the back of his car and opens the door. He wants to help her, he does, but he doesn’t even know where to  _ start. _

The only place he can start, really, is with Devi. 

On the way to her place he drums his fingers on the steering wheel constantly, contemplating turning the car back around and driving back to the safety of his own home. 

Is he breaking the rules by coming here to check up on her? Is he violating the very contract they’d put together so that things didn’t get messy? 

(in the back of his mind malibu flashes through his memories and reminds him that things with devi have always been messy and weird, never defined in clear lines, and that expecting this time to be any different was just fool—)

Ben slams his foot on the brake and swears underneath his breath. No. This is  _ fine. _ He’s not violating the contract, because now that he and Devi are lab partners, her work affects his and that’s a stipulation he’d placed in the contract anyways. He’s well within his rights to see what’s going on with her emotionally, because her emotions affect her schoolwork.

He repeats this mantra in his mind over and over and over again, until he reaches her house and pulls up in front of it. 

He takes a moment to look at it. It’s small, undeniably so, and he should know, coming from a mansion that was once used in a Peloton commercial, but there’s something homey about it that he likes. Something that draws him to it, a sort of muted warmth that emanates from it. 

Fuck, who is he, Shakespeare? Ben groans, dropping his head forward and slamming his forehead against the steering wheel. As he does so, however, he accidentally hits the horn on his car and it blares, startling him back. 

“Oh my god,” he mutters. 

Because the universe loves to screw him over and fuck up his life, the front door of the house opens and Devi pokes her head out. “Ben?” she calls, face adorably scrunched up and confused. “What are you doing here?” 

He considers turning the car on and stepping on the gas until he drives right off the PCH into the Pacific Ocean, but she’s already seen him and she’s definitely not going to let it go, so he just turns the key in the ignition, turning the car off, and hops out of it, nervously shifting. 

“Um,” he says, making his way to the front door, keys still clutched in his hand like a life line, “I was worried.” 

Devi’s eyebrows shoot up, and as he approaches, she steps away from the door and opens it further. “What?” 

“You’ve been—you’ve been weird, lately,” Ben says, unable to come up with any other word to describe her bizarre behavior. “Like, snapping at Eleanor and Fabiola, and then me in lab, and you haven’t even raised your hand in class to argue or correct me and I was just wondering if there was anything going on.” 

Devi’s expression shutters shut like a closed door. “Nothing for you to care about,” she snaps. “Point 5, remember? This doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that we’re hooking up.” 

She tries to shut the door in his face, but he’s already here and he’s  _ not _ letting up that easy. He steps forward, pushing it back open, and Devi rolls her eyes in disgust at him. “I did add the caveat that school work was exempt from that, David,” he shoots back. “Considering we’re lab partners, and you’re biting my head off whenever we have to work together in class, I’d say this qualifies. Come on, you don’t want to get denied from Princeton because you couldn’t work with your lab partner.” 

She glares at him, turning on her heel and storming off in a huff. “I hate your guts,” she mutters, flopping down on the couch and crossing her arms. 

Ben shuts the door behind him and quickly slips off his shoes, walking over to Devi as quietly as possible, as if she’s a wounded animal, so as not to startle her. “Come on, Devi,” he says gently. “What’s going on?” 

Devi shoots him a dark glance and burrows further into the couch, decidedly pretending as if she didn’t hear him. “Fuck off.” 

Ben smiles at that, dropping his keys on the table and sitting a bit away from her, but on the same couch. “You’re going to have to do better than that if you want to get rid of  _ me, _ Devi. I’m not scared of you.” 

“You should be.” 

“Nah, I’ve seen you fangirl over Nick Jonas too many times to be really terrified of you,” he jokes. This is a lie, of course, he is somewhat scared of Devi and her temper, but in like, a good way, if that’s possible. 

Devi doesn’t respond and simply continues to glare at the floor, not saying anything.

Ben shrugs. “Ok then.” 

He leans back in his seat and pulls out his phone, getting back to reading the article in  _ The New Yorker _ that he’d been making his way through in lunch. There’s an excellent piece on fiscal responsibility and the different approaches the candidates in the upcoming election had to it. 

After about a few minutes, she snaps. “What are you doing?” 

Ben glances up from his phone. “Well, you don’t want to talk, I don’t want to push you, but I’m not going to let you sit here and stew until we figure this out.” 

“So what?” she bites out. “You’re gonna sit here until I open up?” 

“That’s the plan, yeah.” 

“Wow, I didn’t know a small brain like yours was capable of thinking things through.” 

“Which one of us threw her textbook out her window in sophomore year?” 

“That was because of  _ you!  _ You’re literally the most insufferable piece of shit ever, oh my god!” 

Ben forces back the wave of hurt that washes over him at those words and carefully keeps a composed demeanor. “Look, Devi, I’m going to admit, sitting here and watching you simmer like a boiled pot isn’t exactly my idea of a great night either.” 

“Oh, and what is, watching reruns of  _ Rick and Morty _ while jerking off to the thought of being Chief of Staff?” she snipes. 

Ben ignores her soundly. “It’s really not. I have other things I’d like to be doing, but, lucky for you, since I’m so brilliant, I finished all my homework in study hall and I don’t really have any reason to go home. I’m not leaving until we figure this out, if only because I am  _ not _ letting my lab work suffer because of you.” 

“If you think I’m letting whatever the  _ fuck _ you think is going on with me affect my school work, you’re literally on crack cocaine.” 

Ben rolls his eyes. “Please. Like I’d take anything that could compromise my academic record.” 

For the first time since he’d shown up at her house, Devi cracks a small smile. “Fair enough. What is it then? Adderall?” She squints at him. “Roids? No, it can’t be roids, you’re still a skinny twig.” 

Ben shakes his head, biting back a smile of his own. “Please. You’re the one who needs the enhancements to keep up with me.” 

“Which one of us drinks fucking green tea like a hipster?” 

“Green tea actually has a higher caffeine content than that disgusting coffee you drink.” 

Devi’s mouth drops open in shock and she smacks him against his arm. “Ow!” he says, rubbing his arm. “Another friendship punch?” he asks, raising his eyebrow. 

She rolls her eyes. “Don’t you dare insult coffee. It’s  _ amazing,” _ she sighs. 

Ben chuckles. “Careful, David. I’ll start thinking you’re cheating on me with Starbucks.” 

“Oh, you didn’t know?” she quips, uncrossing her arms. She pulls her legs up and sits cross legged on the couch, facing him a little more fully. “Yeah, it just started but, I feel  _ seen, _ you know?” 

He smirks, mirroring her posture on the couch so they’re sitting face to face. “Is this your way of telling me we have to end things?” 

Devi nods seriously. “It’s not me, it's you. I can’t be with someone who’s a  _ hipster. _ It’s just too much.” 

“Your best friend dresses like she’s on an acid trip from the 70’s more times than not.” 

She arches an eyebrow. “And she’s my best friend.” 

“Oh, so what am I, chopped liver?” 

Devi tilts her head, pondering his question. He watches her hair fall to the side, revealing the skin of her neck, and although he can’t see it right now, covered up by concealer, his eyes immediately focus on the skin underneath her jaw where he knows a mark lays. His fingers itch to trace over it, to drag themselves down her body, but that’s not what they’re here for and he knows it. 

“No,” she says finally, drawing her attention back to his face. “Maybe just a regular liver,” she smirks, scrunching her nose at him. 

He ignores how cute it is and rolls his eyes. “I’m honored.” 

“You should be. I’m in high demand. E! News wants to do a story on me soon.” 

“Can I be your source to leak information to them?” 

She laughs softly, shaking her head. “Yeah, sure, Ben.” 

She traces her finger over the couch then, falling silent. The air between them is different now, not crackling with the same kind of volatile tension it had been when he first entered the house and she had been a powder keg, ready to ignite at any moment. It’s different, the kind of air you get when you stand on top of a cliff and watch the waves crash against the rocks; peaceful, but with an undercurrent of power. 

“I’m sorry I snapped at you,” she finally says. She doesn’t look up at him. 

“It’s fine.” 

She shakes her head. “It’s not.” Laughing bitterly, she finally glances up, meeting him in the eyes for a split second before dropping them back down. “I—I was mean, and you were only trying to help. I’ve been trying to do that less, you know, snapping at people.” 

“Devi—” he starts, but she holds up her hand, cutting him off. 

“Let me finish, Ben.” 

He nods. 

“I don’t really talk about this to anyone but Dr. Ryan,” she continues. Her fingers continue to trace the pattern of the couch, a nervous tick, he realizes. “Not my friends, or my cousin, or even my mother. I don’t really know how to.” 

Ben swallows. What—what is he supposed to say? What  _ do _ you even say?

That’s grief, plain and simple, and he doesn’t really know grief. He doesn’t know how to comfort Devi or help her out of this because—it’s different for everyone, and he’s never felt anything like this. Sure, he’d lost his grandmother when he was younger, but he wasn’t very close to her. She’s lost her  _ father, _ her father, and he has no idea how to help her through that. 

(he wishes he did not feel like such a failure when it comes to her, that he could somehow slay all of her demons—but there are some demons you cannot slay, that you have to learn to live with, and he has to understand this fact when it comes to devi) 

“You don’t—you don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he stammers out. 

She scoffs. “Of course I don’t want to. But that doesn’t mean I don’t need to.” 

Ben does something very dumb, in that moment, almost as dumb as what he did at this 16th birthday party—that he does  _ not _ let himself think about and tries to block out of his mind as much as possible: he reaches for her hand. 

What is perhaps the most unusual thing is that she takes it. 

“My dad’s birthday was last month,” she begins. “I—I thought I was healing, you know? I thought I was getting over it. But then I just—I was cleaning out my room and I found this harp piece that I would play for him and just him and—I lost it.” 

Devi takes a deep breath and looks up at him. Her eyes are swimming with unshed tears, and her hand is shaking in his grasp, but she soldiers on. “I don’t know how to not miss him,” she whispers. “I don’t know how to live without him.” 

He wraps his hand around hers tighter, squeezing it, and she clutches it back. If there was a way he could take her pain, he would, in a heartbeat, without even thinking about it, but he can’t, he literally can’t, so the only thing he can do is hold her hand and hopes she knows he is here. 

“It’s been two years, and every day I wonder when the pain will stop. It’s overwhelming, sometimes.” 

Devi closes her eyes, letting the tears drip down her cheeks, and she lets out a wracking sob. “He’s just—gone.” 

“I wish there was something I could do,” he says, surprising himself. Ben’s not the type of person to admit when he fails at something. The exact opposite, in fact. He’s the kind of person who will dig his heels in and avoid confronting himself with his lack of success. He and Devi are similar, in that kind of way. 

She opens her eyes, cheeks still tear stained. “What?” 

“I—I don’t know,” he admits. “I just feel like there’s nothing I can do. I can’t bring him back, you know. I can’t help you.” 

Her gaze softens and she rubs her thumb over the back of his palm. “You are, Ben. It’s just that—I want to know when it’ll stop hurting.” 

Ben looks away from her, focusing on a dent in the coffee table instead of her eyes. “Can I be honest with you, Devi?” he asks. 

She bites her lip, as if she’s afraid of what he’ll say. He waits for her. He always has. 

Eventually, Devi nods. “Please.” 

“It won’t stop hurting.” He wants to pull her closer, and run a hand down her back, to feel her melt into him, but he can’t. He can’t, he can’t, he can’t. 

(he can’t, he can’t, he can’t, it’s too similar to malibu and them dangling on the edge of precipice, both too cowardly to jump off and besides, look at how that had turned out—)

She surprises him again. She comes to him first. 

Devi shuffles closer and lays her head on his shoulder. Their bodies touch in exactly two places: intertwined hands and her cheek pressed against his shoulder.

“It won’t stop hurting,” he continues, “because you’ll never stop loving him. You’re going to love him forever, of course you are, he’s your  _ dad, _ and that doesn’t change. He  _ wasn’t _ your dad, Devi, he  _ is. _ That kind of pain doesn’t ever really go away. And that’s ok.” 

Ben hears her sniffle and she shakes, ever so slightly, with tears. It’s a half second, a barely momentary movement, but it does. “I thought it would get easier.” 

“Some days it will. Some days will be easier than others. And then there’ll be some days when you feel like a huge empty space has opened up in you and you don’t know how to breathe. That’s how grief works.” 

“How do you know all of this?” 

“We’ve all felt it, Devi. There’s no deeper meaning here. It’s just sadness.” 

She buries her face in his shoulder and clutches his hand so tightly he thinks she may break his bones. That’s fine. 

(he’ll take all the pain he needs to if it means she heals, if it means she finds peace. if she finds comfort in holding his hand so tightly the bones in it shatter, then so be it. even beyond their rivalry, he’s never wanted her to be in  _ pain, _ he’s never wanted her to hurt. he’s just wanted her to be happy. he’s just wanted h—)

Ben wants to hug her, comfort her and help her in all of the usual ways you help a grieving person, but she makes no move to get closer and he’s  _ not _ overstepping his boundaries right now, he’s  _ not _ pushing her into anything she doesn’t want. This is about Devi, not about him, and besides, he’s more than content to sit here and hold her hand while she leans on him. 

“Thank you.”

He thinks about making some stupid quip about how he’s getting used to hearing those words considering all he’s been doing for her lately, but decides against it. He has the rest of the year to torture her and make fun of her and laugh with her. This is not the time for that. 

“You’re welcome.” 

Ben tries to ignore the way his heart speeds up and pounds as she sighs, and continues to hold his hand. They sit there in silence—companionable silence, and he doesn’t dare look at her. 

He’s glad he came, that’s not it. He’s just dreading the moment when Devi comes to her senses and kicks him out of the house, because he doesn’t want to leave. 

A thought occurs to him then. 

“Devi,” he murmurs quietly, almost into her hair. She smells like jasmine. 

“Can I ask you something?” 

“You just did,” she smirks. 

He purses his lips to hold back a smile. “I’m going to ask you something else now.” 

“Hmm.” 

“Have you talked to your mom about any of this?” 

She jerks away from him instantly, and he regrets having even opened his mouth when he catches the look on her face, shocked and wide eyed. 

“Why—why would I do that?” she splutters. “I wouldn’t even know where to start. Plus, I’m brown. We don’t talk about feelings. We shove them down and don’t deal with them and learn to push past whatever issues we have for the greater good of the family and also so we don’t embarrass ourselves in front of the Indian community. That’s how it works.” 

Ben nods slowly, as if he gets it, although he really doesn’t. “Aren’t you and your mom a lot better now?” 

Devi bites the inside of her cheek and glances down at their hands. For a second, he thinks she’s going to pull away, but she doesn’t, simply watches as his thumb rubs circles into her palm. “I—where do I even start?” 

“Devi.” He cups her face, tilting her head up to look him in the eyes. “There’s one person in this world who understands how you feel, and that’s your mom. She loves your dad too. She lost him too. She’s the only one who gets any of this.” 

“But—but what if she doesn’t? What if she’s over it and she tells me to move on and that I’m being dramatic? What if—what if she doesn’t miss him anymore?” 

She whispers the last question, as if she speaks it any louder it will be the truth. 

“What makes you think that, Devi?” He runs his thumb over the curve of her cheek, looking into her eyes. He knows she cannot lie to him, not like everyone else, even if she’s good at fooling other people. 

(he has always been able to decipher her code, and she his)

Devi lifts a shoulder up and drops it, like she’s attempting to be casual but is instead just totally unsure. 

“I don’t know. I guess we just don’t talk about him very often to each other.” 

“Your mom loved him, didn’t she?” 

Devi nods. 

“Then she misses him. In a different way than you miss him, but she misses him.” He offers her a small, genuine smile. “I promise. Just talk to her, ok?” 

She runs her tongue over her lips, questions swimming in her eyes. “I don’t—I don’t even know where to start. What if she thinks I’m insane for still missing him?” 

Ben looks down at their intertwined hands, unable to look at her directly. “There’s no time limit on grief, Devi. You don’t just get over it, and your mom will understand. She lost your dad just as much as you did. She misses him just as much as you do. I promise.” 

She’s still for a moment, looking down at their hands as well, before she sighs. “Yeah. Ok. You’re probably right anyways.” 

He squeezes her hand. “Is there anything else I can do?” 

She smirks. “I was expecting some quip about how you’re always right.” 

Ben laughs. “I’ll admit, it crossed my mind, but it didn’t feel right to say it here.” 

She laughs as well, and then looks at him, the ghost of a smile lingering on her lips. “Would you sit with me? Just—just for a little while?” 

He nods, without a shadow of a doubt. “For however long you need.” 

(it’s far too similar to malibu to go unnoticed by him, and he can only hope and pray that this time, it doesn’t all end up the exact same way, that everything doesn’t come crashing down again. he doesn’t know how he survived it last time, how he pushed everything that happened aside and ignored it so soundly, it became like second nature, like breathing to him, but he doesn’t think he can do that again because it—) 

“So,” Devi says, drawing his attention back to her. “I’ll admit, I’ve been a little spaced out in class recently. Shapiro do anything dumb worth repeating?” 

Ben laughs, “Oh, let me tell you about the other day when he proclaimed the kid next to me as the King of Denmark.” 

Ben doesn’t want to think about how eerily similar everything seems, how he and Devi always seem to be hurtling towards this same type of conclusion, so he doesn’t. 

(he doesn’t think about the fact that her hand is still wrapped around his, that she has made no move to let it go, to let him go, and how badly he wishes she wouldn’t. his brain is flashing red warning lights and screaming sirens and telling him he’s getting himself into something he has no hope of ever getting out of, no hope of ever surfacing from—)

He forces those thoughts out of his mind and recounts the antics of their teacher, losing himself in the sound of her laughter. 

* * *

Devi nervously rubs her hands against her jeans as she waits for her mom to come home. Ben’s left just five minutes before, and she flexes her hand, wishing that he were here so she’d at least have someone to talk all this nervous energy out on. 

She putters around the kitchen getting dinner—puri with aloo gobi—ready, glancing at the clock every few minutes in anticipation. Her mom used to be pretty unreliable when she came home, sometimes at 4, other times at 7, but ever since Devi’s dad passed, she’s been consistent with being home by 6, at the very latest. 

It’s 5:45. 

Devi pulls out her phone and stares nervously at the screen, as if that will make her mom come through the door. She’s so nervous she can’t even attempt to do her homework, which stresses her out as she has a three chapter reading for AP Euro to do and a lab report for AP Bio to finish typing up. 

She messes around on her phone for another few minutes before she hears the garage door open, and her mom comes into the house. “I’m home, Devi!” she calls, dropping her keys and purse on the kitchen counter. 

Devi leaps up from the couch when she sees her mom enter the room, frowning gently. “Devi? Did you get dinner ready?” 

Devi nods. “Yeah.” 

Nalini purses her lips. “Well, thank you, but I have to admit I’d thought you’d be busy with homework.” 

Devi swallows dryly, shifting on her feet as she looks at her mom. She closes her eyes and thinks of her father, his bright, shining smile and the way he smelled, like incense and apples. 

“Mom, can we talk?” she blurts out. 

Nalini’s expression changes instantly, morphing into one of apprehension. “Of course.” 

Devi sits on the couch, trying not to throw up from nerves. “I—um, I wanted—” 

“Oh god, please, don’t tell me you’re pregnant,” Nalini mutters. 

Devi’s eyes widen, and she chokes. “What? No! Oh god, Mom, ew!” 

Nalini breathes a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank god.” She leans forward then, clasping her hands in front of her to look at Devi. “So then, Devi, what is wrong?” 

Devi looks down at her hands, unable to muster up the words to say anything. So, she asks the question that’s been on her mind for a long time. “Why didn’t you cry?” 

Nalini furrows her eyebrows. “What?” 

“After—after Dad died. You didn’t cry. You didn’t cry until we spread his ashes, and you haven’t cried after that. And I—I don’t know know how to—how to not cry and—” 

Devi loses it then, tears falling down her face. Nalini moves over and wraps an arm around her shoulder, pulling her in. “Oh, Devi,” she says quietly. “Let it out.” 

Devi clutches onto her mother, who smells, always, like turmeric—shockingly comforting—and cries. Devi never cries in front of her mother, not if she can help it, but she can’t help it right now, can’t help the sadness that overwhelms her heart like the waves overwhelm a boat, dragging it down into the depths of the ocean where no light ever shines. 

It’s not long before she’s all cried out and she looks back up at her mother, whose eyes are swimming with tears, still unshed. “I didn’t cry because I had to be strong,” she whispers. 

Devi pulls away from her mom. “What?” 

Nalini sighs, fingers playing with her necklace. “Your father—he was the love of my life, Devi. I’ll never love anyone ever again like I loved him. He showed me how to love. But I couldn’t cry over him, not while I had you.” She strokes Devi’s hair. 

“I know I’m not the parent you wanted at first,” she murmurs. “But I was the one you had and I had a fifteen year old daughter who had just lost the person closest to her, and then she lost her legs. I—I didn’t know what to do. So I couldn’t cry.” 

Devi feels tears rise up again. “Mom, I—” 

Nalini raises a hand, stopping her. “I love you, Devi. I’m sorry if you thought I was cold hearted because I didn’t cry over your father. I wanted to, so many times, but I couldn’t. I needed to be strong, because I was the only thing you had and I was trying to keep everything together while you were mourning your father. I didn’t have time to mourn him and take care of you too. And then once I started trying not to cry, when I finally thought it was ok to cry, I couldn’t. I didn’t know how.” 

“I miss him,” Devi admits. “I—I thought it was supposed to get better now.” 

“I miss him too.” 

“You do?” she whispers. 

(because this is not—she’d known her mother loved her father, she’d  _ known _ that, but there was always the creeping doubt of uncertainty that her mother had moved on, learned to deal, stopped grieving—)

“I miss your father with every single beat of my heart,” Nalini says. She gets that haunted look in her eyes like she always does when she talks about Devi’s dad. Sometimes, Devi forgets that her parents had a whole life before her, memories and moments that she will never,  _ never _ really know. There are stories there, memories that Nalini holds that Devi craves to have, to slide into her pocket like precious stones. “Every day.” 

“I thought you would tell me to get over him,” she admits. 

Nalini’s face drops. “Never, Devi. I don’t think I’ll get over what happened.” 

“You don’t?” 

Her mother sighs. “It’s ok for you to miss your father, Devi. I just—I want you to talk to me about him. And I’ll admit, I might not have been the most forthcoming when it comes to emotions and opening up about him, but—I want you to talk to me. It’s ok if you miss him and want to cry. Just, please, let me know when you want to. I don’t want you to be by yourself.” 

“Will you tell me a story about him?” 

“What?” 

Devi casts her eyes to the floor. “I just—you had more years with him than I did and I thought you might have a few stories from what he was like before. You know, I was born.” 

Nalini smiles faintly at that. “Oh, I have plenty. Do you want to hear about the time your father ran the dishwasher?” 

Devi’s mouth drops open. “No!” she gasps. 

Nalini laughs softly. “So, this was about three months after we had gotten married, and we had just moved into a tiny little apartment in Fremont. I was busy doing my residency, so I was always home late. Your father would always cook dinner for me and do the washing up after, because he always said that I worked so hard all day, and the least he could do was take care of me when I came home.” 

She smiles. That does sound like her father, compassionate, beautiful, caring. 

“One day, I was leaving work when I got a call from your father, offering to take me out to dinner. I mean, I yelled at him, because there was no reason to do so, and we could barely afford it. But, he insisted, and took me to a taco truck on the street. Mohan loved street food. Said it reminded him of the food back in Chennai. We had a lovely time. But, um—” Nalini breaks off, laughing, “when we got back to the apartment, we found it flooded.” 

Her mouth drops open. “What?” 

“Turns out your father had left the dishwasher running and it had clogged and broken while we were out. Everything was ruined. And you know me, I started shrieking and shouting and freaking out. But Mohan, he just looked at me and he started laughing.” 

Nalini blinks back a tear. “It was funny, you know. And so I started laughing, and then we were both standing in the middle of our flooded apartment, feet soaked in water, laughing hysterically. It was one of the best moments of my life. And then your father looked over at me and said, “We can never run the dishwasher ever again.” I knew I loved him, in that moment.” 

“I can’t believe  _ that’s  _ why you won’t let me run the dishwasher,” Devi laughs. 

Nalini smiles. “It’s always because of Mohan.” 

Devi lays her head on her mom’s shoulder, swallowing down the lump in her throat. “Thanks, Mom.” 

She feels her mom press a kiss to her forehead. “I love you.” 

“I love you too.” 

* * *

Devi heads up to her room after dinner with her mom, and quickly finishes up her homework, as fast as humanly possible. She’s definitely not done the absolute  _ best _ job on the AP Euro reading, but she couldn’t care less right now. When she’s done, she sits on her bed, staring at her phone. It’s full of pictures and videos of her dad. 

Fuck, even after everything, she still misses him. Misses him like she misses a limb and like she misses her heart. The grief is always going to be there. She has nothing to say about that. 

But she doesn’t have to carry this grief alone. 

She tosses her phone on the bed and runs her hands through her hair. She’s glad she talked with her mother, talked about her father, but she’s not—there are still parts of her that coil up. 

Devi flops back on her bed and stares at the ceiling, and closes her eyes. 

Saying goodbye to her father, on the Malibu Beach, that was what she needed. That was the jump she needed. 

Losing him was the worst moment of her life, the hardest thing she had ever had to accept. Losing her legs was nothing compared to her father. He was her  _ heart, _ a vital, integral part of her that could never vanish, and Malibu, she needed Malibu. Her  _ mother _ needed Malibu, to say goodbye to her husband. 

Devi takes a deep breath and runs her hand over her face. God, she hasn’t—she hasn’t thought about it this much since sophomore year. She’s blocked most of it out, most of that first month from her mind. 

(but why, her mind asks. what was it about malibu that was so horrible, unable to be touched? the answer, of course, is easy: ben.) 

She shoves those thoughts out of her mind and thinks about what her mother told her about her father. He was  _ funny. _ He made her laugh, and she loved him. It scares her sometimes, that all he was is ashes, swirling in the Malibu sea. 

(of course, ben is not horrible, he is not unable to be thought of, but he—he’s  _ painful, _ in a way that devi doesn’t want to think about. he makes her  _ feel, _ on a deep, visceral level that she can’t—can’t think about. there is an extreme of emotion that he pulls out of her, and she’s never felt quite like she did with him in the car after he—) 

Devi rolls over and shoves her face into her pillow. Why were all of these memories coming back now? They had stayed at bay for most of sophomore year, all of junior year, so why were they coming back now, overwhelming her, forcing her to feel emotions she thought she had killed, ones she thought were dead and buried?

(there was the fact that for most of the past two years she had buried herself in her relationship with paxton—filling her mind with him and refusing to let herself think about what had happened—and soon it became second nature, to shove down the pain and—) 

“Fuck,” she groans. She sits up and tosses her pillow across the room. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. Stop!” 

But no matter how much she tries to get it out of her mind, she  _ can’t. _ When she closes her eyes, all she can see is Ben smiling at her, hear his voice in her ear, telling her to talk to her mother. She can feel his hand in hers, smell his shampoo. 

(but that’s the thing, isn’t it, the thing about malibu, the thing about that week in sophomore year that she does  _ not _ let herself think about: that when everyone else in her life was done with her, had given up on her, ben  _ hadn’t. _ he had been there when she needed him the most and he had given her a safe place to land. 

(even beyond that, the lingering doubt is what haunts her—devi loves certainty, likes to wrap her hands around the sheer black and white lines of the world, likes to  _ know _ and be sure and be aware of what’s going on but she and ben—they’re uncertain, in every sense of the word—because they were something more than friends in the beginning of sophomore year and something less than enemies after and it’s messy—)

and there’s—there’s a lot of fear wrapped up in that, because devi’s never had someone who’s—who’s always  _ known _ what she needed in the way ben does, who’s always known how to read between her lines. everything she says is double layered, and the only person, the  _ only _ person who can see through her shit is ben—and that’s terrifying. 

because after malibu devi knows a big truth staring at her in a face, a truth she’s ignored for years—that ben’s always,  _ always _ been there for her, a steady constant, her north pole in the starless sky, and that’s something she’s soundly ignored for—)

Ok. Clearly, she’s not getting anywhere with trying to shove this down, so she needs to get it out somehow. After her father’s death, she’d started journaling, writing her feelings down in a notebook—Dr. Ryan was right, it really is a very good way for her to express her emotions without having to say them—but she doesn’t feel like writing about Ben. She has no  _ idea _ how to verbalize what she’s feeling about him. 

So Devi reaches for something that she hasn’t touched in weeks: her sketchbook. 

Before her father passed, she used to draw all the time, and she’d love to draw anything around her, flowers, the sunsets, especially people. But after he died it had taken her  _ months _ to pick up her sketchbook again, which was littered with portraits of him. 

Even as she flips open the sketchbook right now, she smiles at the images of her father scattered throughout the pages. Drawing him over and over again had made her surprisingly good at people, and she’d lately been trying others out: Paxton, back when they were dating, Eleanor and Fabiola mostly over the summer, even her mother and the occasional sketch of Kamala. 

But right now there’s only one person who’s on her mind, who she wants to draw, so she flips to a clean page and starts thinking about Ben. 

She starts with his eyes, of course, and for a moment, viscerally wishes that she had watercolors, or pastels, that she didn’t work in ink and charcoal, the colors of black and white. 

Because those, of course, are the only two mediums that can even hope to capture the color of his eyes, the depth of them staring at her. His eyes are the color of the sky and the sea, and every shade of blue she’s ever loved, and she wants so badly to have the ability to immortalize that shade in her drawings. 

They’re a technicolor explosion of sapphire, azure, the color of all the oceans in the world and she’s loved them since she met him, even when he was smirking at her or sniping at her. Only watercolors or pastels can hope to smudge and smear together to create the exact shade of blue that he has: she’s never found the color on her own (believe her, she’s tried). 

Devi drags the pencil over the page lightly, gently filling out his eyelashes and adding more detail to the iris. She can’t begin to hope to capture the stunning fracturing that his eyes hold, layers upon layers of cerulean, indigo, cornflower, but she can try. It’s his eyes, she thinks, that have always been her weakness. She’s always had a thing for blue eyes. 

She runs her thumb over the edge of the drawing, blurring and smoothing it out just the slightest bit, before she moves the pencil down the page and starts to sketch out his mouth. 

Or maybe it’s his smile that’s her weakness. Even the thought of it sends warmth spiralling through her, the kind of warmth that you get from the sun on your skin. Ben’s got a beautiful smile, bright and happy. Not the smug smirk whenever he beats her—she hates that—(although she’s starting to even hate  _ that _ less and less, dear god, what is happening to her) but the warm, happy one he gives her when she makes him laugh. 

She runs her finger underneath the sketch of his bottom lip, and wonders what it would be like if he kissed her while smiling. She wants it so bad she can feel it in her gut, like a sharp stone, sitting both heavy and painful in the bottom of her stomach. 

Devi swallows past the lump in her throat and continues sketching. It’s scary how easily his smile comes to her, considering that bright, happy one she loves had been all too absent from his face since post-Malibu, but it does, effortlessly. 

(she doesn’t want to admit it’s probably because she thinks about him smiling at her like that at least twice a day) 

He hadn’t smiled at her like that since sophomore year. He still hasn’t, she realizes, not the same kind of carefree, joyful smile that lights up his whole face and makes her heart leap out of her chest, the smile that makes him look impossibly handsome, the smile that shines so bright she can’t help but be helplessly drawn to it, like a moth to a flame. He hasn’t smiled at her like that since sophomore year, and it’s because she broke something she doesn’t know that she can fix. 

(she wants to trace the lines of his smile more than she wants to  _ breathe, _ wants to map out his dimples with the tips of her fingers and sear them into her brain—and she wants to run, run, run in the opposite direction whenever he smiles at her like that. she still wants that smile back, though. she’ll do anything to make him smile like that again, anything at a—)

Devi bites her lip and forces those thoughts out of her mind—which is far more difficult than it sounds. He’s taken up residence in her mind, like a prion or something, burrowing into her brain and changing the shape of it so that all she could think about was him, his smile and hands and eyes. 

It’s like muscle memory for her to sketch his face out, despite having never drawn him before, his mouth wide in the exact smile she loves. That expression—she can see it whenever she closes her eyes, it lives in her mind like a comforting image, his smile. His laugh, too, plays in the background of her life, the soundtrack to which her heart picks up speed. 

(it’s almost involuntary, at this point, her mind drifting and thinking about him even while she’s drawing him. the edge of his jaw and the jump of his nose, the curve of his cheek and the jut of his lip. he’s ridiculously, stupidly attractive when he smiles at her and she fucking  _ hates  _ it, dear god. even when he’s fucking smirking at like the goddamn prick he is he’s attractive, and she wishes she didn’t think about him all the fucking time and—)

Devi looks down at the paper. She’s sketched him, rather well, for someone who hasn’t sketched in a bit, but it’s still not exactly right. Still not exactly him. She sighs, flipping to another page, and goes to sketch him again when something else occurs to her. 

She runs her thumb over the edge of her hand, remembering how it felt in his, and closes her eyes, trying to remember exactly how it looked. 

Hands are...impossible to draw, to say the least, and even more so when she’s trying to draw her own hand in his. Ben’s hand is easy to draw, considering she thinks about his hands all the time, but hers is much harder. 

(the image is seared into her brain, his pale, pale fingers against her dark skin, his thumb stroking the back of her hand almost absently, as if their hands were made to come together—and this is the shittiest romantic bullshit ever, because no one is  _ made _ for someone else, they’re not, that’s just a lie—but it’s hard to think that it’s not the truth when his fingers sweep over hers and bring her back to earth)

Devi tears the page out of the book and crumples it up, chucking it in the corner. She tosses the sketchbook aside in disgust. She’ll try again another time. 

She reaches for her phone on her bed and opens it, scrolling through her messages. There’s a few from Fabiola and Eleanor asking her if they want to go see a movie this weekend, a Snapchat notification from each of them, and a kid she does orchestra with tagged her in a photo, probably from Senior Night. 

Devi opens her text thread with Ben, gnawing on her lip as she debates whether or not to send him a few messages. The last text he sent her was yesterday, asking if she had finished the lab report that was due for AP Bio (she did that today). 

But she doesn’t just want to type things out on a keyboard and message him across a screen. She doesn’t want to feel him on her phone. She wants to hear his voice. 

_ You’re breaking a rule, you’re breaking a rule, you’re breaking a rule, _ she chants, over and over again in her head. Never mind the fact that that rule was already pretty substantially ripped to shreds, that it was already cast aside. 

Lines in the sand, lines in the sand. 

(if it’s a line in the sand, does that mean it’s easy to erase and pretend it was never there?)

She’s coming to the terrifying realization that this contract was not so much chiseled into stone as it was drawn into wet clay, easy to crush between her hands and reshape. It’s frightening and she  _ hates _ it. Or, she hates how much she doesn’t hate it. 

(things would be so much easier if she hated him like she thought she did years and years ago, if she hated him with a burning passion, if she hated the way he smiled and smirked and dragged his fingers down the curve of her back but—she doesn’t hate any of it, not one second, and that, in and of itself, is scarier than anything else)

Before Devi can talk herself out of it—she’s always been a little too impulsive for her own good, seriously—she presses the phone icon on top of the screen. 

She regrets what she’s done as soon as she’s done it, and almost hits the red button to end the call, but before she can, Ben picks up.

There’s a little bit of distorted background noise, as if he’s scrabbling to pick up the phone hurriedly, before his voice comes through. 

“David?” he says. “Why are you calling me?” 

Devi leans back on her cushions and feels the tension leach out of her body at the sound of his voice, hoarse, as if he hasn’t spoken in a while, slightly tired. She imagines him laying in bed, eyes soft in a way they only get when they’re heavy with exhaustion. 

“Um.” He can’t see her, but she still feels the heat flood her cheeks as if his eyes are on her. “I—I wanted to thank you.” 

“For being so insanely handsome and the best part of your day?” 

“Oh, shut up, Gross,” she snaps, biting her lip to stave off a smile. “You know what I’m talking about.” 

“Mmmm,” he hums, “I’d like to hear you say it.” 

She sighs heavily and rolls her eyes, groaning. “Thank you for encouraging me to talk to my mom. It—it really helped.” 

“Any time, David,” he says. Devi ignores the warm flutters that burst into her stomach at the nickname, something special that only Ben has for her. God, she wishes she could see his smile right now. “I  _ am _ always right, you know.” 

Devi laughs. “That’s literally the furthest thing from the truth. I can think of at least one hundred separate occasions where I have been right and you have been wrong.” 

Ben scoffs. “That’s not true and you know it.” 

“Hmm, sorry to inform you, Gross, but I am the smarter one.” 

“Really? Which one of us has the higher GPA?” 

“You’ll be eating your words when I’m valedictorian in June.” 

“Cause that’s happening,” he snorts. “Sorry to tell you now, David, but we both know I’m going to be valedictorian and that Yale’s going to  _ love _ having me there.” 

Devi tries not to throw up. “Ugh, why do you have to be  _ such _ a cliche? A rich white guy going to Yale,  _ wow.” _

“Like you’re any better. Brown girl going to Princeton?” 

She laughs. “Ok, you might have a point there.” 

“So, did you finish your applications?” 

“Ugh, don’t talk to me about college,” she moans. 

“What?” He sounds surprised, which, she admits, is fair. School  _ has _ been their chosen topic of discussion for most of the time. But, honestly, college is so overwhelming Devi thinks her head might split apart at the seams if she talks about it any longer. 

“Please. I literally can’t handle it. That’s all anyone ever wants to talk about anymore.” 

“I can respect that,” he says. Devi yawns, climbing into bed. “What, tired already, David?” he jokes. 

“Shut up, Gross,” she drawls. 

He laughs, low and quiet into the phone and she settles back against the covers of her bed, still holding the phone as she stares at the ceiling, eyes tracing the cracks in it. “Mom told me she misses him.” 

“See,” he says, but there’s no smugness behind it, something she’s very grateful for. “It all worked out, didn’t it?” 

Devi shrugs. “I don’t know about that. I tried to use the moment after to get her to buy me a car and she still said no.” 

“Only you, Devi.” 

“Hey, I know my strengths and I have to use them.” 

“You’re shameless, you know that?” he laughs. 

“Look, Gross, not all of us have ridiculously rich dads who drive Porsche Cayennes and are willing to buy us cars for our birthdays. I need to convince my mom, slowly, you know? It’s a brown kid thing, I wouldn’t expect you to understand.” 

He snorts. “You don’t even need a car. Don’t you live like, five minutes away from the school?” 

Devi sighs, shaking her head. “Oh god, Ben, why can’t you understand, it’s the  _ principle _ of the thing, what a car represents. It’s the freedom to go anywhere you want at any time you want. No one is holding you back. You’re not bound by anyone’s schedule except yours. It’s the purest expression of liberty a teenager can get.” 

“Whatever you say.” 

“I do say, Ben,” she smirks, parroting back at him what he told her the last time they had a phone call. “Clearly, you don’t respect your car as much as I do.” 

“I should just give it to you then, huh?” 

“You should. I’d treat it with care.” 

“Even the thought of that freaks me out.” 

She rolls her eyes, even if he can’t see her, and smoothly switches the topic. “So, if you finished all your homework, what did you even do today?” 

Devi lets the sound of his voice wash over her as he tells her about his day, laughing at his failed attempts to play basketball (seriously, why does he even try anymore?) and rolling her eyes when he inevitably brings up  _ Westworld _ again, needling her into watching it. She won’t, ever, but that’s a conversation for another time. 

Her fingers itch to pull the sketchbook back and run her fingers over the drawing of him, but she chokes that feeling and chucks it out the window. 

Devi’s gotten  _ excellent _ at shoving her emotions down and not dealing with them, and that’s what she does right now. Because she  _ doesn’t _ need to face that fact that his voice has become one of her favorite sounds in the world, second to only his laugh, she doesn’t need to face the fact that the both of them have taken rule 5 and absolutely torn it to shreds, she doesn’t need to face the fact that this arrangement is turning out to be way more complicated than she anticipated, despite the both of them having only been involved in it for about 3 weeks, she doesn’t. 

(when it comes to ben, there are a lot of things she does not, cannot face. there are truths to him that scare her, that make her stomach coil and twist, truths that she doesn’t think she’ll ever be able to come to terms with. and it’s no one’s fault but her own. this is the grey area of her life now. she needs him, she craves him, but she doesn’t want to want him, and the staggering irony of it makes her mind spin and spiral, makes her want to—)

She nearly falls asleep a few times, the sound of his voice so soothing, until he laughs in her ear and she jerks awake. “Sorry, what?” she says, eyes snapping open. 

Ben laughs. “Someone’s tired.” 

“I am not,” she protests feebly. Even as she does, she struggles to hold back a yawn, blinking rapidly. 

“Go to bed, David,” he smirks. She can  _ hear _ the smirk through the phone and she wants to reach through the screen and strangle him with her bare hands. Or kiss him. She’s not exactly sure which. 

“Trying to get me to sleep so you can stay up and study?” she quips. “Come on, Gross, we both know studying won’t help you against me.” 

“I’m trying to get you to sleep so you won’t pass out in the middle of class tomorrow and inevitably mess up whatever lab we’re doing in bio.” 

“Please, Ben, you know I could do those labs with my eyes closed.” 

“Get some sleep, Devi,” he says again. 

She’s loathe to put down the phone for a second, caught up in wanting to hear his voice more, but then she  _ finally _ comes back to her fucking senses and realizes that she needs to go to bed. Needs to get away from him. “Fine. Night, Gross.” 

“Good night, David.” 

She hangs up before she can regret her decision, staring at the black screen before plugging her phone in to charge and switching her lamp light off. 

(when she closes her eyes all she can see is malibu, the waves crashing against the surf, her mother’s smile, her father’s voice. he brought that back to her, and she’ll never be able to repay him for that. malibu is the ghost of her past, and she doesn’t know how to deal with—) 

Devi squeezes her eyes shut and thinks about something, anything else. Thinks about Eleanor’s upcoming play and Fabiola’s robotics competition, thinks about what she wants to have for dinner tomorrow and about her AP Calculus test on Friday. Tries to think about anything else. 

Her mind always drifts back to him, though, and it’s something she hates. She can’t ache for him. She  _ can’t. _

But Devi’s pushed these feelings aside for two years, and even though it seems like all of the defenses she’d built up were being obliterated one by one, she’s still good at pushing them away. At ignoring them, at least.

(she’d thought her walls were stone, built with limestone and poured with cement, carefully dusted off and crafted so that no one could get in, that she could keep everyone out and prevent anyone from knocking them down. she’s only now discovering that her walls, when it comes to ben, at least, were nothing more than paper, that she was living in a house of cards and all he had to do was strike a match to burn them down, ashes falling around her)

She rolls over and closes her eyes, willing sleep to take her, so she could stop feeling this, so she could fortify her defenses and learn to deal with him. 

Even if she already knows it’s a futile plea, that she’ll dream about him and his hands on her tonight, she needs to rest, she needs to sleep. 

Devi pinches herself, and forces all thoughts of blue eyes out of her mind. 

(she fails, and she’s beginning to realize that’s par the course when it comes to ben) 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> your comments and kudos make me happier than devi eating cheeseburgers!! come talk to me about the show! you can find me on tumblr: @[parkersedth](https://parkersedith.tumblr.com)


	4. act iv: did it frighten you how we kissed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _(when she kisses him, he feels close to her, in a way he hasn’t felt ever since malibu. he can fool himself into thinking they’re close, that they are binary stars, held together by each other’s gravity, instead of confronting the reality that all they are is two planets whose orbits only cross occasionally)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is brought to you by leila's midterm notes for her astronomy midterm that she procrastinated the shit out of studying for, and maggie's scholarship essay on traffic laws
> 
> this should actually just be titled "i went absolutely feral and wrote 16k words of sexual tension" 
> 
> anyways hey guys! sorry this chapter took so long! normally i don't like to go more than a week without updating, but you know, life got in the way and there was not much i could do about it. this chapter is just a lot of sexual tension and sex, after that much more emotionally heavy chapter last week, but the end does have a good healthy amount of emotional bonding cause you know i'm about that shit
> 
> it also is the chapter of space references. because i am a nerd who is enabled by my nerd friends (leila, i'm looking at you) to include nerdy references everywhere. 
> 
> big thanks to leila for checking my science and rose for helping me with my metaphors. y'all are the real icons here, i am just the poor dumb vessel. 
> 
> uh yeah i am a dumbass thirsty thot and i'm insane. that's why this chapter is like,,,,,,,89% me thirsting over the both of them. i have no shame ✌️
> 
> i definitely forgot to address something but um, i'm hoping not lolllllll
> 
> (chapter title from “green light” by lorde)
> 
> k thanks enjoy!!!!!!

The fun thing, he realizes, about this whole charade, is messing with Devi. 

He’s always liked messing with her, and she with him. It’s how they work, like the push and pull of the tide. She pushes, he pulls, and they use the force of gravity to keep each other balanced. It’s back and forth, a dance of equals, and for the past decade, it’s always been like that. 

The arrangement...changes that a bit. 

It starts off light. At first, honestly, he doesn’t even notice it, it’s so minor. 

A flinch when he taps her, that he thinks comes from shock. She sits far enough away from him during biology so that they never brush shoulders, and he doesn’t think much of it for a few days. 

But then it happens again. And again. And again. 

He’s worried it’s him, initially. That she’s disgusted by his touch, and he’s tempted to call the whole thing off. 

But then he taps her on the shoulder to ask her a question and she reacts so violently he thinks she might have set a bomb off in her systems. When she looks back up at him, her pupils are blown wide and she’s trying to hide that fact, and failing. 

Ben’s eyes fall to the curve of her shoulder, where he tapped her, and he realizes he brushed his fingers over the spot where he sunk his teeth into her skin a few nights ago. 

He smirks. So that’s it. 

After that, it’s distressingly easy to mess with her. They _are_ lab partners, so he has plenty of excuses to touch her. 

Reaching over her to grab a beaker, whispering in her ear to make sure she can hear in the loud room, helping her tie her apron and letting his fingers linger on the small of her back for just a beat longer than they should. It’s easy, and the way Devi reacts, oh, that’s half of the fun. 

He especially likes it when she pulls her hair up into a ponytail or a bun and he can drag his eyes over the slope of her neck, miles and miles of beautiful skin that he’s marked. 

He can’t see anything, of course, but he knows where they are and that’s more than enough for him. 

She hates and loves it, though, if the way she glares at him and then rakes her nails down his back after school is any indication. It’s too much fun to stop. 

The best part, of course, is doing it when other people are around. 

The opportunity presents itself in the middle of AP Euro, when they’re working on a project of 4. 

Devi’s already sitting with their group when he walks into AP Euro that morning, and she shoots him a smirk when she catches him looking at her. 

He raises an eyebrow. Well, she _is_ wearing a red dress. He’s not _blind,_ you know. 

“Morning, Gross,” she quips, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms over her chest. “Nice of you to join us.” 

Their other group members exchange a look. “So...if we let you two argue, are you gonna end up doing all the work?” the girl asks. 

Ben’s mouth twists up in a wry smile. “Well, David’s work wouldn’t even be that good anyways, but no, that’s not happening. Plus, this is an easy packet and it’s not even due until tomorrow. We can get it done in 15 minutes.” 

“Bet I can do it before you,” Devi crows, hair flipping over her shoulder. 

“Prove it.” 

For about half of the class it’s quiet. Seriously, he doesn’t understand why Shapiro has them do either the most boring or the craziest assignments known to mankind. Is he incapable of doing anything in the middle? 

When they’re done, Ben leans back in his chair and twirls the pen around his fingers, dead bored. He sneaks a peek at Devi’s paper, and smirks. “Looks like I beat you again, David.” 

“You didn’t,” she comments easily. “I finished five minutes ago.” 

His eyebrows furrow. “Then why are you still writing?” 

“Just doodling,” she says. “Fucking bored.” 

He leans in closer, his mouth not far from her ear. “Thanks for last night, by the way. I couldn’t even sleep on my back.” 

She shoots him a dark glare. “Not here!” she hisses. 

Ben laughs. “They’re not paying attention,” he says, tilting his head towards their other group members. 

Devi spares them a glance, and, well, it’s not like he’s _wrong._ Their other group members are absorbed in their phones, both with earbuds in and paying absolutely no attention to them. 

Oh, this is going to be _so_ much fun. 

“So,” he smirks, leaning forward. “Are you busy tonight?” 

Devi stubbornly turns away from him. “Yes,” she snaps. 

Ben bites back a smile. “Doing what?” 

“Homework.” 

“Hey guys,” Shapiro then appears. “Everything ok?” He’s got a nervous look on his face, and Ben shoots Devi a confused glance before turning to his teacher. 

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t it be?” 

“You’re not yelling at each other.” 

He pauses. Devi does as well, gaze ping-ponging back and forth between him and Shapiro. “Well,” she starts, “there’s nothing really to yell about in this packet.” 

“You once had a twenty minute argument on whether or not Fanta was the best orange soda out there.” He sees Ben open his mouth to say that _no,_ _of course it isn’t,_ and holds up his hand. “I’m just stating that as a point. I don’t want to hear the whole thing rehashed _again,_ please.” 

“We’re actually fine, Mr. Shapiro. That project you had us do really got us putting aside some of our differences, you know?” 

Their teacher nods. “Oh, really? I was hoping it would! I’m so glad you guys did.” 

Ben smirks at Devi, keeping his eyes locked with her. “Yeah. I mean, I’ll admit, I was a little upset you didn’t assign us the Defenestrations of Prague, but Tycho Brahe was plenty interesting.” 

Devi flushes and kicks him with her foot, staring daggers at him. _What?_ she mouths, hands shaking a little. 

This is _too_ easy. “Yeah, you know, Devi’s really interested in them. She knows all about the Third one.” 

At this point, Ben’s sure if Devi’s face was paler she’d be a bright red, and he knows he’ll be paying for it later, but god, it’s just _way_ too much fun to rile her up. 

Shapiro raises an eyebrow and turns to Devi. “Wow, Devi, that’s so cool! As I say, Prague is the littest place on earth, you know. So many fascinating historical events that take place there!” 

Devi gapes at him, seemingly at a loss for words, before nodding. “Um, y—yeah,” she stammers. “I know. Thanks, Mr. Shapiro.” 

He offers them a smile before ambling away to check on more students, and the second he vanishes, Devi turns to Ben and punches him in the arm, _hard._

It’s painful, but oh, is it worth it. 

“What the fuck?” she whisper screams at him. She looks like she’s about two minutes away from strangling him with her bare hands. 

He leans forward and, underneath the table, places his hand on her upper thigh, fingers curling into bare skin. He can tell by the way her mouth drops ever so slightly open and she sucks in a breath that it doesn’t go unnoticed by her, the effect his skin against her has. 

Truth be told, he kind of wants to drag her into the hallway and fuck her in the supply closet again, but he’s doing a bit better holding his feelings back. 

“You can’t blame me, David,” he quips. “Some things just stick in a guy’s brain.” 

Devi clenches her jaw and curls her hand around his wrist, shoving his hand off her leg. He lets her do so, but not before letting his hand sweep the length of her thigh before removing it. She huffs before turning away from him. “I hate your guts.” 

Ben raises an eyebrow, shuffling a bit closer to her so he can lean over her shoulder as if he’s simply taking a peek at her paper. “No, you don’t.” 

“I do.” 

He lets his eyes linger on the curve of her neck, where he knows a mark lays, and thinks about how badly he wants to suck a hickey into her skin so hard that it can’t be covered up. His fingers itch to trace them down her side, to map out her body again. He can’t get enough of her, he’s realizing, even after they’ve been doing this for a solid month. He just wants her more and more with each passing day, and the intensity of it scares him. 

(he wonders why, for a second, he wants her so bad, why he needs to be around her and breathe her in, and for a second malibu—) 

Ben pushes those thoughts away and drags his attention back to Devi. “Mmm,” he hums, “I really don’t think so.” 

Devi just ignores him, flipping him off before keeping her eyes focused on her work. That’s fine. He can mess with her more later. 

* * *

He doesn’t have to wait long before the perfect chance presents itself 7th. 

He and Devi have study hall then, a side effect of finishing the vast majority of their credits in junior year being that they have more time than not to do what they want to this year, and they normally choose to sit in the library, working on homework. 

It had happened a couple of weeks ago. He’d been there to work on AP Calculus (fuck, he _really_ hates that class, but there’s no way Devi is beating him out for valedictorian because he hates math) and he’d spotted her, working on the same assignment he was. 

And, well, he hadn’t known what had possessed him to walk over to her and set his stuff down, but he had, she hadn’t kicked him out, and now it’s something akin to a routine, them working on homework together in the library. 

Today, though, is Wednesday, and he’s not exactly inclined to work on homework when it’s a perfect day outside and he has the whole afternoon. Ben’s not a procrastinator, not by nature, but it’s getting harder and harder to work up the motivation to do any of his assignments. Senioritis is really setting in. In fact, he’s pretty sure the only thing keeping him going is competing with Devi. 

She’s feeling it too, if the way she slams her Calc textbook shut after ten minutes is any indication. 

“Kill me,” she mutters, dropping her head forward. 

Ben laughs, leaning back in his chair. “How would you like me to do it? Poison?” 

“Knife to the gut?” 

“Nah, that’s too painful.” 

“Don’t worry about it, because calculus is going to kill me before you ever do,” she complains, her voice muffled by the table. 

“Aww, don’t say that, David. Calculus isn’t _that_ hard.” 

“Why are you defending it?” she groans, picking her head up. Her hair hangs around her face, and she sweeps her hand through it, shoving it back. “Don’t you hate calc?” 

“I do.” 

Devi sighs, running her hand down her face. She looks _tired,_ he realizes. Tired enough to collapse. 

“Come on,” he says, standing up.

She stares at him. “What?” 

“Come on. Let’s take a walk. You could use a break from the work.” 

She narrows her eyes. “Is this just another ploy for you to get me to stop studying so you have more time to work?” 

He laughs. “Come on, Devi. You need a break. You look like you’re about to pass out.” 

“What about our stuff?” 

He glances around, raising an eyebrow. “Do you see anyone else here?” 

It’s a fair point. There’s no one else in the library, it being almost completely deserted. It’s not very unusual. If people want to hang out in their free time, they go to the courtyard outside or the auditorium, not the library, where they have to be quiet. 

Devi sighs. “Fine. At least let me get my phone.” 

She grabs it and tucks it into her pocket before standing up. Ben shoves his hands into his jacket pockets and steps around her. “So, is Calc really that hard?” 

She shakes her head. “No. I just don’t really want to do anything anymore.” 

“What, not even Bio?” he asks, as they step around the center space with all the tables and duck into the shelves. 

Devi runs her fingers along the books’ spines as she thinks about his question. “I love Bio, I really do, but I guess senioritis is just setting in.” 

She whips her head around as soon as she says that and narrows her eyes at him. “I’m still not going to go easy on you, Gross, so don’t think that I’m going to slack.” 

He scoffs. “Please. That’s insulting to you _and_ me.” 

Devi arches an eyebrow, pursing her lips. “Well. I didn’t expect you to look at it like _that.”_

“It’s fine,” he says, waving his hand. “It’s not like all of us aren’t suffering from it.” 

Her lips twist into a small smile. “True.” 

Ben realizes they’re very alone right now, in the stacks, and no one is looking at them. He steps just a bit closer to her. “I have to admit, though, I was hoping you’d be a bit less stressed. You know, since homecoming.” 

Devi’s eyes darken, and her gaze flickers down to his lips before back up to his eyes. “You hoped wrong.” 

Interesting. His blood simmers, and he wants to touch her more than anything in the world. 

So, he does. 

Ben reaches out and drags a finger, gently, down the length of her arm. Goosebumps erupt on her skin, and he wants to follow his finger with his lips, but manages to restrain himself, just barely. “Can you tell me why?” 

Devi smirks, tongue, pink and gleaming, far too tempting, darting out to run over her lips. She knows the game she’s playing, and he’d be lying if he said things didn’t get a thousand times more interesting with her tangling with him now. “I’ll admit, I’m still waiting for you to live up to all the talk.” 

He bites his cheek, stepping even closer to her. There’s still space between them, but they’re definitely far too close for propriety’s sake, “Well, why don’t you tell me how I’ve been lacking, and I’ll see what I can do to fix that?” 

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” she laughs. 

“I would.” He moves forward again and now he’s pressing her into the bookshelf, hands slipping around her waist. She’s wearing a dress and fuck, all he can think about is her legs wrapping around his hips and that beautiful mouth of hers. 

She smiles. “Well, what’s the fun in telling you?” 

Quick as a cat, she shoves him off of her, and he stumbles back. She stalks forward and now, she’s the one pressing him into the shelves. 

Devi trails a finger down his chest, hooking it into the belt loops of his pants and tugging him a bit closer. She leans closer so her mouth is at his ear. “Why don’t you try and figure it out?” she whispers. 

_Fuck,_ he wants to take her in the fucking school library. She’s a vixen, a temptress, and she’s seared onto his skin like a permanent memory, like a lasting scar. 

Ben trails his hand down her back and pulls her closer to him, fingers digging into the small of her back. There is nothing quite like the feeling he gets when he touches her, an explosive chemical reaction, nuclear fusion, the elements of stardust combining to form a celestial body. 

“You’re playing with fire, Devi,” he says, gripping her tighter. She steals the breath right out of his lungs, makes his head spin. 

(she always, always has, even as far back as sophomore year and they were thrown together, even then, she made him feel like he was weightless, and the feeling he had after malibu was the worst thing in the world, like he was being crushed under a—) 

He slowly, meticulously, drags his eyes over every inch of her face, stunning pink lips that part as she pants, dark, dark eyes that hold secrets he longs to let his fingers sift through, the sharp curve of a cheekbone he wants to know better than he knows anything else. 

“So what if I am?” she quips. She walks her fingers up the length of his arm. “Maybe I want to get burned.” 

He swallows a groan at those words. “Seriously, Devi, we can’t.” 

Devi smirks, pulling away from him, and his head nearly explodes with the whiplash he gets, her skin leaving his. He wants her so bad he actually steps forward for a second, body primally following hers, before he gets a bit of sense knocked back into him and he stops himself. 

“I know.” 

She turns away then, talking further down the stacks, and he gapes after her. She—she can’t do that! Make him dizzy and breathless, and then just walk away like it didn’t affect her at all. 

Fine. He’ll get her back. 

Ben trails after her, waiting until they’re even further in the back of the library, further away from any prying eyes (although, literally _no one_ is there) before he moves again. 

He reaches out and tugs on her wrist, pulling her back to him. “You’re a tease, David.” 

As if to emphasize his point, he drags a hand down her arm and then across her waist, banding across her body. His fingers dig into her stomach—firmly, not painfully—and pull her back to him, pressing his chest against her back. 

He buries his nose in her neck and smells her—jasmine, like always. 

“You—you like it, don’t even pretend,” she chokes out, trying to seem confident. His heart picks up at how she sounds, visibly shaken by the way his body presses against hers. 

(if she’s this affected by him, why did she run, after malibu? why did he?)

He’s touching her, body pressed against hers and yet he still feels like it’s not enough. He wants to crack open his own ribcage so she can crawl into his heart, and even then he doesn’t think she’ll be close enough. 

He leans forward and brushes his lips against her ear. “I don’t think I like it as much as you do.” 

Her fingers tighten on his forearm, nails digging painfully into his skin, and not a moment of it registers. The only thing he can think about is her. 

She pushes against his arm and he lets her go, enjoying the way her eyes crackle when she spins around and glares at him. “I can’t believe you, Ben.” 

He smirks, leaning back against the bookshelves, crossing one ankle over the other. “Can you blame me for having a little fun?” 

“Yes! Yes, I can,” she nearly yells. “Not here!” 

“Bit hypocritical of you, isn’t it?” 

“Not here, Ben,” she grits out.

“Oh, I don’t mind taking this somewhere else, David. Just let me know.” 

“Fucking hell,” she swears. “You’re insufferable.” 

She whirls around and stalks off, and he shamelessly lets his gaze drift down the length of her body, focusing especially on her legs, which are impossibly long. God, he wants to run his hands down them. 

He's caught up in the image of his hands running down her leg, so it’s not until she’s practically two feet away before he realizes she’s walking back. Before he can say or do anything, she places her hands on his shoulders and shoves him back against bookshelves. 

He opens his mouth to ask what the fuck she’s doing, but he can’t even get a word out before she’s leaning forward and kissing him. 

It’s all lips and tongue and teeth, the kiss, hard and hot. Her teeth sink into his bottom lip and he nearly wrenches back in pain before her tongue runs across his mouth to soothe the ache. All Ben can do is try and pull her closer, kiss her a bit harder, but the second he places his hands on her waist to do so, she pulls back, panting. 

Her mouth is swollen and wet—holy shit, he _never_ gets tired of seeing her like this, freshly kissed—and the only reason he even knows she’s speaking is because he’s staring at her lips when they move. 

“I’m free after school,” she pants. “Text me.” 

With that, she steps back, but not before letting her hands drag down his chest. She smirks at him, raising an eyebrow in a challenge, before walking away.

He leans back against the bookshelf, and licks his lips. Damn, this game’s fun.

* * *

Ben shoves Devi into the door, watching as her eyes flash. 

“Well,” she says. “Someone’s impatient.” 

“Shut up,” he groans, nudging at her jaw with his nose. She tilts her head, and he kisses the skin of her jaw, tongue darting out ever so gently.

By the way her fingers dig into his biceps, she likes it. He drags his lips back and forth, running them along the length of her jaw. “That’s not a very nice thing to say to the girl who’s about to sleep with you,” she smirks. 

“What else do you want me to say?” Ben walks his fingers down her back, thumb rubbing at the small sliver of skin revealed by her dress. 

Devi gasps, arching into his touch. “I—I don’t know,” she breathes. “Anything.” 

Ben runs his hands down her arms and gently turns her around, pressing kisses to her neck as he does so. “There’s a lot of things I could talk to you about,” he murmurs. He sweeps her hair to the side and presses a kiss to the nape of her neck. She sucks in a breath. 

He lets his fingers wrap around the zipper of her dress and drags it down slowly. As he pulls it down, he presses kisses to the skin revealed, a new type of treasure entirely. 

Devi moans when he presses a kiss to the small of her back, but the dress still hangs on her, held up by straps on her shoulders. He slides his hands through the opening as he rises back up, linking his fingers, palms hot on her stomach, so the backs of his hands brush against her dress, and pulls her back to him. 

She sighs in content as he drops kisses in a path from just underneath her ear to her shoulder, and then he gently bites the strap of her dress with his teeth and drags it down her arm, kissing her skin as he comes back up. 

He does the same with her other shoulder, and with every kiss, she melts back further into him, soft and supple in his arms. 

He never wants her to leave. 

The dress pools at her waist and he rubs his hands at the edge of the strapless bra she wears, turning her around in his arms. 

Her hands slide up underneath his shirt and lift it over his head, and she cups her hands around his jaw, bringing him back in for a kiss. 

They kiss slow, and soft, before her hands slip up to his shoulders and push him down to the floor. He stumbles, nearly falling, and just manages to catch himself on his bed, as she pushes him down again, lowering himself to the floor. 

“Wh—what?” he stammers. He looks up at her, sitting on the floor of his bedroom, dead confused. Devi tucks a strand of hair behind her hair and moves to the floor as well. 

“I want you here,” she murmurs, settling herself so she’s straddling him again. “And I want you to talk to me.” 

“Ok—ok,” he manages. “What do you want me to say?” 

She leans forward and nips at his throat, and he struggles to keep his eyes from rolling back into his head. “Anything.” 

Ben grapples for something, _anything_ to talk to her about, and settles on the one thing he can think of right now with her on top of him, miles of skin revealed. “Did you know that Neptune is deep blue because it’s rich in methane?” he says, pulling the rest of her dress off and tossing it to the side.

Devi runs her hands through his hair and scatters kisses across his collarbone. “Hmm. What else?” 

He slides his hands up her back and flicks open the clasp of the strapless bra, letting it fall and pushing it aside. “It—it was also discovered in 1846.”

“By who?” she asks, gasping when he shifts so she’s laying under him, pressing against the carpet of his floor. 

“Johann Galle,” he answers, tugging her underwear off. 

Devi’s back bows as he slides two fingers into her, scrabbling at his shoulders. Every time he touches her he gets a reaction to rival an exploding star, and he hopes that never stops, hope he can always call this feeling out of her. “What—what else do you know?” 

Ben’s other hand trails down her body and rubs at her breast, enjoying the way she bucks into him when he does. “Jupiter actually has layers of clouds,” he says, speaking into her skin. “The highest are white, the lowest are brown.” Devi slings her leg over his waist, dropping kisses along the length of his own collarbone, and he tries to focus on whatever facts he retained from watching _Cosmos_ and reading astronomy books. “Sa—Saturn has helium rain as well, because of—of high pressure and internal heating.” 

He rubs at her, and she moans. “Oh, Ben.” 

Pink spills over his neck at the sound of his name rolling off her tongue, like it’s meant to be there, but he ignores it. Focuses on her instead, the addictive way she touches him, the way she kisses him and talks to him. 

He pinches her clit between his fingers, watching the way her mouth parts in pleasure, the way her lashes flutter. He thinks he could watch her for the rest of his life, especially the intense way she reacts to him, to his touches and kisses and caresses. 

“Keep going,” she breathes, opening her eyes. “Keep going, please.” 

He can’t refuse her, not ever, not truly, so he does. “Jupiter also has such a dense interior that hydrogen liquifies,” he breathes. “And Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, and Neptune emit more heat than they receive from the sun.” He leans down and kisses her, deep, kisses her like he’s a dying man and she’s his salvation. 

(maybe he is, maybe she is all he has ever needed, ever wanted and—)

“Ben,” she says. “Ben, stop.” 

He does instantly, stilling, and she opens her eyes. “Wait,” she breathes. 

She reaches down and pulls his hand out of her, and then runs her leg up his side, hooking it around his waist. Devi’s hands push at him, and he falls back, sitting back on the floor.

She straddles him and he sits up, brushing back her hair. “I want to be on top,” she smirks. 

His mouth drops open as he feels the blood drain from his face. “Um—yeah, oh—ok.” 

Fuck, that’s ridiculously hot. He drags his hands up her side, watches as her body moves over him. She’s like a siren song, dangerous, calling him to his own death, and he’s only too happy to sink to the bottom of the sea with her. 

Devi reaches for his pants and pulls out his wallet, her hands easily flicking it open to find the condom there, and he can’t help but be fascinated by her hands, easy, nimble things that move with grace. She tears the package open and he can’t stop staring at her face, drinking her in. 

She’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, and he can’t tear his eyes away from her. 

“Start talking, Gross,” she breathes. “Come on, don’t be boring.” 

She sinks down on him and he bites her neck, perhaps a _little_ too hard, but she doesn’t complain. “Oh, god,” she cries softly, fingers clutching at his shoulders. She tosses her head back, hair spilling down her back, and he can’t resist, leaning forward and sucking a mark into the skin at the base of her throat, feeling her cry out against his lips as he does so. 

He can see her even better now, but she won’t let him, burying her face in her neck as her thighs shake around him. “Don’t—don’t move,” she says. “Not yet.” 

To keep himself from _needing_ to move, he focuses back on talking to her. “The—the moons are more interesting than the planets,” he gasps, fingers tightening as she shifts on top of him. 

Ben slowly drags his fingers down her body, back and forth over the length of her leg. “Because—because of stress from Jupiter, Io is volcanically active,” he moans, trying to keep his eyes open so he can watch her. He moves slightly underneath her, and that sets her off, her fingers tightening on his shoulders as she blinks rapidly. 

“Ben,” she whimpers. 

He’ll never get tired of hearing his name fall from her lips like that, not only because he loves that she knows he’s making her feel this way, but because he loves her knowing he’s _here,_ with her. 

She shifts again and his fingers tighten, pulling her closer. “Devi, _please.”_

It’s the first time he’s asked her. Because this time, he’s the one at her mercy—the one talking to her, the one watching her move on top of him—and he likes it, a _lot._ She does too, by the way her eyes widen before her beautiful smirk crosses her face. “Well,” she says, “I should, shouldn’t I?” 

“Devi,” he bites out. 

“Talk to me,” she gasps, finally, blissfully moving. 

It feels so good he can barely remember his own name, let alone talk to her about planets, but he tries the best he can.

“So—Io is also unable to be tidally locked because of interference with Europa,” he chokes out. He watches her face as she gets closer, the way her breath picks up and how her hands shake on his jaw, pure pleasure crossing her face. Watching her fall apart above him might be the greatest moment of his life, and if it’s not _the_ greatest, it’s definitely up there as one of the top choices. 

“Ben,” she whines. He reaches up and pulls her hand away from his jaw, curling it around his shoulders so it presses into the skin of his back more firmly. She immediately digs her fingers into him, moving against him more firmly, and he pulls her closer as well, her hips rolling into his.

“Come on, Devi,” he whispers. “Come on.” 

“I—I need you to keep talking.” 

“Fuck,” he mutters. “Ok, ok. Triton—Neptune’s moon, orbits it in—in retrograde, backwards, and it’ll be destroyed by Neptune’s tides, poten—potentially producing rings. But that’s going to happen eons from now, of course.” 

He can’t take it anymore, just watching her, not moving, so he leans forward, bucking into her slightly, and she carves her nails into his back as he does so. She’s so close, he can feel it. She just needs that little push, to tip her over the edge. “Come on, Devi,” he repeats, pulling back and watching as her eyes slip shut. He snaps his hips into hers, _hard,_ her nails digging into his skin, a sob tearing itself from her throat, and she flutters around him. “Come for me.” 

He knows her body so well now that he can tell she’s about to break the second her mouth opens, and then she falls apart. 

It’s the most beautiful thing in the world, the way she shakes above him, says his name into the air with a drawn out cry, how even in the midst of orgasm she struggles to hold onto him, to keep him close. 

Watching her is too much for him, and he follows her a second later, clutching her impossibly tight, as his vision blurs and he buries his face in her neck. 

He sucks marks into her neck, kissing every inch of skin that he can, well aware he’s clutching her hard enough that there’ll be bruises left on her skin. Good. He doesn’t want her to ever forget his touch on her skin. 

Ben closes his eyes and breathes, and when he shifts his face slightly to press a kiss to the underside of her jaw he tastes sweat on her skin, and grins. 

“Don’t get too cocky now, Gross,” she breathes, even as she tilts her head to give him more room to leave hickeys as he gently drags his teeth over her neck. 

“Who, me? Never,” he quips, releasing the vice like grip he has on her hip to slide his hand around to the small of her back. He’s never realized how delicate she seems in his grip until she moves, and he realizes his hand nearly spans the width of her back. 

Devi’s fingers trail up to his jaw and then she’s nudging his face away from her neck, gently running down the side of his face over and over again, thumb stroking the curve of his cheek before she leans down and kisses him. 

He kisses her back, pulling her as close to him as he can. She kisses him like a hurricane, strong, gale force winds in the form of her tongue sweeping into his mouth and making his head spin. He can’t stop touching her, running his hands down the length of her body and back up, dragging his fingers across every single inch of skin he can reach. 

Ben tilts his head up a little bit and kisses her harder, determined to brand himself on her mouth, to make her lips tingle like his do when they kiss. It’s this moment, he can’t let go of, even after the sex and after they’ve both finished, even beyond the physical intimacy is this, the moment when she kisses him and he forgets, for a split second, where they are. 

(when she kisses him he feels close to her, in a way he hasn’t felt ever since malibu. he can fool himself into thinking they’re close, that they are binary stars, held together by each other’s gravity, instead of confronting the reality that all they are is two planets whose orbits only cross occasionally) 

He sweeps his hand up her back and cups the nape of her neck, fingers digging into her scalp as he kisses her, again and again, the only thing he’ll ever need. 

She’s the first to pull away, but she doesn’t go far, leaning down and pressing her forehead against his. Her breath puffs against his lips as she pants, her eyes still closed. 

“Ok,” she says, speaking barely an inch away from his mouth. “That was good.” 

Ben chuckles, fingers tracing patterns up and down her back. “Glad to see I’ve lived up to the talk now.” 

Devi smiles, opening her eyes to look at him. “I’d give it an A minus.” 

“A minus?” he repeats. “Dear god, nothing impresses you, does it, David?” 

She shrugs. “I have high standards.” 

“Yeah, I’m sure you do,” he mutters. 

Her fingers whisper over his skin, following the jut of his collarbone to his shoulder and back. Ben can’t help but lean into her touch, closing his eyes in contentment. 

It’s the Roche Limit all over again, she, the larger celestial body, and he the smaller object, her tides exceeding his meager gravity. She pulls him in, effortlessly, and like a satellite trapped inside the distance, he wonders when he will be torn apart. 

(it is only a matter of time, the gravity of malibu slowly, but surely wearing him down, pulling away pieces of him until nothing but the soft underside of his heart is left, and he dreads the moment when she real—)

He ignores that and pulls her down for another kiss, losing himself in her touch and the way her hair brushes against his shoulders, the way she sighs and the way her body wraps around his.

What terrifies him the most, though, is that he doesn’t _need_ to do anything else, content to sit her and simply kiss her, and that breaks more than one rule.

* * *

Ben lugs his backpack over his shoulder, thumb flicking over his phone screen as he leaves the school. He’d stayed behind to do extra credit work for his Calculus class, still cursing the fact that Devi had beat him out by a solid three points on a test earlier that week, and he’s tired now, ready to get home and fall face first into his bed. 

He sighs, running a hand over his face as he rifles in his pockets for his car keys. Dear lord, whoever invented senior year should be shot. 

It’s Friday, though, a few days since the library, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t looking forward to the weekend more than usual. There’s a Halloween party at some other senior’s house, and, somehow, Devi had gotten him to come to it. 

He tries not to flush when he thinks of what she had whispered in his ear about keeping up their track record at parties, and groans, tugging open the door and stepping out to the main hallway of the school. 

Ben’s face twists up when he sees Devi standing at her locker, glancing at his watch to make sure that he’s not mistaken, or something. 

Yeah, it’s well after school, and she’s still here. 

“David?” he calls out, a bit unsure. 

Devi whirls around in shock and relaxes once she catches sight of him. “Oh, hey Gross,” she says, slamming her locker door shut. 

“What are you doing here?” 

“I stayed behind to get some extra practice before the fall showcase.” She jerks her thumb towards the music room. “I just finished.” 

“Oh.” He glances between her and the door, watching as she tugs her jacket on. “So...your mom is coming to get you, or something?” 

She shakes her head. “No, I’m walking home. She’s still at work until like, 5:30.” 

Ben gnaws at his lip. “I could drive you home,” he blurts out. 

Devi raises her eyebrow. “I’m flattered, Ben, but I’ll admit I’m a bit worn out today. Maybe tomorrow?” 

He holds up his hands. “No—I didn’t—I just wouldn’t mind,” he stammers out. “Nothing else involved.” 

“Oh.” She glances outside, through the large windows, and considers it. 

Southern California doesn’t get very cold, ever, but they do get a bit of wind chill, and it’s already getting a bit dark. He can see her turning it over in her mind, and when her shoulders slump, he knows she’s caving in. “Yeah, ok,” she nods. “That would be really nice.” 

Ben smirks. “Well, I am very nice. A true gentleman at heart.” 

“Oh yeah,” she drawls, pushing open the door with her shoulder. “Princes have nothing on you.” 

He winks at her. “Glad you finally figured that out, David.” 

She laughs as she climbs into his car, tossing her backpack into the back seat with his, and as he buckles his seatbelt he tries very hard not to think about this choice he has made, breaking the rules yet again, shamelessly. 

(he also tries very hard not to think about the fact that she accepted so easily)

“So,” he says, shifting the car into gear and heading out of the parking lot, “got any plans tonight?” 

“Yeah, a hot date,” she smirks. 

He tries not to react, but his heart picks up. “Really?” he says, voice carefully measured. 

“Yeah, with Netflix.” 

Ben laughs at that. “Wait, but I was already seeing Netflix. You can’t steal them.” 

Devi shrugs. “What can I say, Gross? Netflix likes me better than you.” 

She grins at him, and he smiles back when they hit a red light. Making Devi smile—that’s got to be one of the best things in the world, even if he doesn’t want to admit it. 

“What are you planning on watching?” he asks, desperate to focus on anything other than her smile, bright as the sun on a cloudless day. 

She scrunches her nose up. “I don’t know. I keep hoping Netflix puts up this particular favorite spooky movie of mine, and they haven’t.” 

“What movie?”  
  
_“What We Do In The Shadows._ I wouldn’t have expected you to watch it, Ben. It’s meant for people who have, you know, taste.” 

“That’s one of my favorite movies!” 

Devi gapes at him, as they stop at a red light. “Wait, what?” 

He nods. “Yeah, I mean, come on. It’s a fantastic movie.” Something occurs to him, and he smirks at her. “Wait, is that why you don’t do dishes? Because you’re a serious vampire?” 

Devi flips him off and smoothly responds, “actually, yes. Serious vampires don’t use towels either.” 

“Well,” he smirks, leaning back in his seat. “My respect for you has risen marginally, I’ll admit. Not by much, but marginally.” 

She rolls her eyes. “Wow, I’ve achieved my life’s work.” 

“I really am that important to you? Aww, David, you’re making me blush.” 

Devi smacks him. “Shut the fuck up, Ben.” 

“I mean, I just hope you don’t like, _The Notebook,_ or something. Now _that’s_ a horrible movie.” 

Her eyes narrow and she crosses her arms across her chest. “What, because it’s a romance?” 

“What? No! Romance movies can be decent. It’s just not a _good_ romance.” 

He shifts and turns them into her neighborhood, pulling into park in front of her house. She doesn’t even turn away from him.

Devi continues to stare at him suspiciously for another moment, before dropping her arms in defeat. “Ok,” she sighs. “You might be right about that.” 

“You know I'm right about that,” he says, leaning forward a little closer. He hears her breathe hitch as his eyes flick down to her lips and back up again. “I mean, who writes someone a letter every day for 365 days? Seriously, dude, get a life.” 

“It’s meant to be romantic, Ben, something that is clearly lost on your stupid man brain.” 

Ben’s mouth drops open. “Hey! I’m not saying I don’t get the romance, but, come _on._ It’s not even that good of a relationship when it comes down to it. Not only are Noah and Allie like, lowkey completely incompatible with each other, he literally gets her to go out with him by threatening to kill himself.” 

Devi laughs at that. “Ok, yeah, that’s _really_ not it.” 

“Well, you can’t deny the rain scene is lowkey hot.” 

“That’s what you’re into?” She leans back, crossing her arms. “You think you could pull a Ryan Gosling and pin someone to the wall?” 

The air between them thickens, crackles with an unspoken energy. He thinks it is not like the moment before a firework explodes, shattering across the night sky. 

“If it was the right person.” 

Devi’s cheeks tint red, but she stubbornly juts her chin out. “You’d need to bulk up before you do that,” she snorts, decidedly ignoring the way his eyes dart over her body, picturing those long legs wrapped around his waist. “You’re too skinny for that.” 

“Hmm,” he hums. “Wanna find out?” 

Devi’s mouth parts slightly, but she composes herself disappointedly quickly. “Not today, Gross. I’m tired.” 

“Too bad.” 

“Please. Like you’d steal from something like _The Notebook.”_ The tension ebbs away, replaced by a lighter, easier air, and now he can breathe. He wants to call the tension back, to tease her until she breaks and he can press his lips against hers, but he can also read her and knows that’s not what she needs right now. So, he lets it slide, and smirks back at her. 

“Damn straight. Now, if you want a good movie on Netflix, you should watch _Inception.”_

“Of course you’d recommend that movie,” she mutters, pinching the bridge of her nose with her hands. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Do you only have pretentious taste in movies and TV? Like, seriously, do you watch anything normal?” 

_“Inception_ is normal!” he protests. 

She rolls her eyes. “Ben, when are you finally going to understand that you don’t always need to follow the plot of a TV show or a movie with a pencil and paper for it to be good? Like, seriously, I’m not in the mood for Christopher Nolan to mess with my brain today, thank you very much.” 

He almost opens his mouth to tell her to watch it with him, so it would be more fun than just watching it alone, but that is a _massive_ violation of their rules, bigger than anything else they’ve done so far, because there’s absolutely no reason for them to go see a movie together, no reason for them to hang out together in their free time beyond hooking up. 

Ben swallows the words back and looks at his hands instead. “Well, I mean, then maybe you could try a scary movie? It is Halloween tomorrow.” 

She rolls her eyes. “I know. That’s why I wanted _What We Do In The Shadows._ Nothing else is quite as good.” 

“What about _Get Out?”_

“No, I wanted it to be funny and spooky.” She sighs. “It’s fine. I’ll just watch like, _Hocus Pocus_ or something.” 

“Speaking of Halloween...” he starts, nervously looking up at her.

She smirks, a dangerous glint in her eyes. “What about Halloween, Ben?” 

“We have the party tomorrow.” 

“Yes, we do.” 

“Do you want me to pick you up?” 

She bites her lip. “Yeah, ok. My mom thinks I’m spending the night with Eleanor and Fabiola anyways. We’ll see them at the party, so they can cover for me.” 

“They’re not suspicious?” 

Devi smirks. “Who said I wasn’t planning on spending the night with them anyways? Drop me off at Fab’s house around 2, at the latest.” 

He nods. “Ok.” 

“You better have a good costume.” 

“Ugh, what are we, five? Why does anyone care if I show up in a costume?” 

“It’s Halloween, Ben. God, get it together. Wear a fucking costume!” 

He groans, dropping his head into his hands. “Fine,” he sighs. “But I’m not putting a lot of effort into it.” 

She smirks, reaching into the backseat for her backpack and pulling it up to the front. “That’s fine.” 

“What’s your costume, by the way?” 

The smile on Devi’s face turns from simply smug to something a little more flirty, dangerously seductive, and she leans in, eyes slowly flickering over his face, before she whispers, “I’m not telling you. But I think you’ll like it. I picked it with you in mind.” 

His hand tightens on his thigh, fingers digging painfully into his skin to restrain himself from hauling her into his lap right then and there, in front of her house. “Devi,” he warns, voice dropping low and quiet.

“Bye, Ben.” She pulls away and winks at him before hopping out of the car. “Thanks for the ride. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She bites her lip and lets her eyes flicker over him again, well aware of what it’s doing to him, how badly he aches her for her, to press his fingers into her hips and to mark the skin of her neck with his teeth. 

Before he can do something ridiculously stupid, like beg her, or something, she slams the car door shut and sets off towards her house, sparing him one last smirk before opening the front door. 

He stares at the space where she’s vanished for a solid five minutes, well aware he’s acting like a creep, but unable to think of anything other than what she’d promised him. 

“Fuck,” he swears, hands gripping the steering wheel like it’s the only thing in the world. 

Tomorrow night can’t come soon enough.

* * *

Devi scans herself in the mirror critically. She flips her hair over her shoulder and adjusts the shorts she’s wearing. 

Fuck, why wasn’t this costume more comfortable? 

She’s Lara Croft, obviously, because Ben had mentioned the other day he’d played the video games as a kid, and, well, the costume was just a little too perfect for her. She _did_ have a plan in mind for him tonight. 

Her mother’s actually out seeing a movie with Kamala, and she thinks that Fabiola’s picking Devi up. And, well, she didn’t exactly _lie._ She is spending the night at Fabiola’s house. She just neglected to mention the exact time she would arrive at Fab’s place. 

Devi tilts her head and adjusts the tank top, grimacing at how the straps pull at her shoulders. It’ll all be worth it, though, for the look on Ben’s face. 

She twists and grabs her overnight bag, her purse and her phone, contemplating sending him a photo, before deciding against it. 

The element of surprise is key to any good time, after all. 

She replies to his text saying he’s on his way, and tucks her phone away, running her hands over herself one last time. 

Is there a heavy element of objectification involved in this costume? Yeah, probably. But does it mean the same thing if she doesn’t mind if he objectifies her, at least for tonight? She knows he knows how smart she is. Devi’s allowed to have a little bit of fun. 

Devi adjusts the belt slung around her hips one more time, tugging down the shorts just a little bit, before Ben texts her that he’s here. A second later, she hears the doorbell ring. 

Devi texts her mom that she’s leaving the house and that she’ll see her in the morning before grabbing her things and clambering down the stairs, stopping only for a moment to shove her feet in her shoes. 

She opens the door to Ben smirking at his phone, not looking at her. “Well, David, what’s this cos—” 

Ben breaks off as soon as he looks up at her, and fuck, of course she’s right, the look on his face is totally worth it, and Devi would be more into it if she wasn’t completely into his costume as well. 

Dammit, Devi knows she’s smart, but she never thought _this_ would be attractive to her. 

Cause she really fucking wants to pull Ben closer by the opening of that stark white lab coat he’s wearing, letting those glasses dig into the curve of her nose as he kisses her. More than that, the fucking _suit_ he’s wearing underneath it. 

(she hates that he’s wearing a suit cause she’s always been into him when he dresses in suits, something about the formal sweep of the blazer and the tie just _does it_ for her)

When she finally drags her eyes away from the hollow of his throat and back up to his own, he’s looking at her like he could devour her right then and there, eyes darting all over her body, as if he doesn’t know where to look. 

Devi swallows roughly and watches as his gaze flicks up to her face. “Well,” she says, smirking, putting on a face far more proud than she actually feels, “I’m glad you like it.” 

“Fuck, Devi,” Ben swears. He steps closer to her and reaches a hand out before pulling it back, as if he can’t touch her. “You planned this, didn’t you?” 

The smirk on her face widens as she bats her lashes. “Well,” she says, pouting, “you did give me the perfect idea.” 

Ben’s eyes shoot up, pupils blown wide, and damn, she wants to kiss him _so_ badly. But it’ll be better the longer she wants. 

So she steps a little forward, relishing in the way his breath hitches, and pulls him a bit closer by his tie, ignoring how badly she wants to run her hands over every single inch of him. “You can’t blame me for having a little fun.” 

His hand lands on her waist, and he glares at her, from behind glasses, and damn, who knew glasses were doing it for her? “You’re a menace,” he growls, his mouth barely away from hers, an atom of space between them. 

She pulls away from him, ignoring how badly she wants to drag him into the house by his tie, and grabs her bag, her eyes watching as his own drop to her legs. “Come on, Gross. We don’t want to be _too_ late.” 

Devi brushes past him to his car, leaving him gaping on the steps to her house, and tosses her things in the back of his car. 

She turns around and leans back against the door of his car, crossing her legs. “You better hurry up, Ben. Don’t want me going to the party without you, do you?” 

The look on his face darkens, and suddenly, he’s striding closer to her, chest pressed against hers, hips pressing her up against the side of his car. “You would go without me?” he murmurs, dragging a finger over her collarbone, down the neckline of her tank top.

Her heart pounds, but she looks only at his eyes to keep herself grounded. “If you don’t hurry up.” 

He quirks an eyebrow, before a smirk appears on his face. 

The smirk is far more terrifying than anything else, because it means he knows something she doesn’t, and Devi doesn’t like that. “Noted, David,” he laughs, before stepping back and reaching into his pocket, pulling out his keys. 

The car beeps behind her, signifying it’s unlocked, but Ben doesn’t take his eyes off of her until she feels her skin erupt with goosebumps, and she can’t take it anymore, spinning around and opening the door. 

Inside the car it’s a little easier, feels like she can breathe a little clearer, and Devi leans back in her chair, well aware she started a game she might not exactly come out unscathed from. Oh well. As long as she wins, she doesn’t care about anything else. 

Ben starts the car, and pulls away from the curb silently. The tension is hot, thick, and she shamelessly lets herself look at him. If it’s possible, she only wants to attack him even more with every passing second, the glasses emphasizing the cut of his jaw, the coat stretching over his shoulders, the fucking tie drawing her eye to his throat. 

“So,” she clears her throat, trying to pull herself back to earth, “who are you supposed to be?” 

He reaches down and flicks on the radio, letting _Thriller_ softly play throughout the car. She watches his fingers, aching for his hands on her, lingering on them even after he’s placed them back on the wheel.

“Alexander Fleming,” he answers. 

Devi raises an eyebrow. “You wanted to be the guy who discovered penicillin?”

Ben shrugs. “I had the lab coat from a while ago, when I was in like, the 8th grade, and it was way too big for me then. It fits now, at least.” 

Devi bites her lip as she looks at him. It does fit him, probably a little too well, in all honesty. She’s pitifully close to making him pull over on the side of the road and climbing on top of him. 

“Aren’t you hot?” she asks. “In that suit?” 

Ben smirks. “What, do you want to take it off?” 

Devi raises an eyebrow. “Less and less by the minute,” she deadpans. 

They stop at a stop sign, and he glances at her, his gaze heavy. Ben’s eyes drag over her, lingering especially on her legs. “Too bad,” he rasps. 

Devi’s heart is in her throat, and god, if this is how it’s going in the fucking car, she can only imagine how much more intense everything is going to be at the party. 

It’s silent for the rest of the car ride, but that does nothing to abate the energy between them, the need for his skin against hers, his mouth hot against her own. 

When they finally arrive at the party he pulls down the street, a bit further away, before stopping the car. “This is going to be _so_ much fun,” he sighs, slipping his keys into his pocket. 

Devi’s hand wraps around the door handle. “Come on, Ben, lighten up.” 

He rolls his eyes. “I can’t even get drunk,” he complains. “I have to drive you to Fabiola’s.” 

“I mean, I’m not the one driving,” she smirks, hopping out of the car.

“Please, don’t get drunk,” he says. “I don’t want to have to take you to the hospital because you got attacked by another coyote.” 

He comes around the car and she steps closer, walking her fingers up his chest to curl her hand around his neck. “You wouldn’t be my knight in shining armor?” she asks. 

Ben laughs. “Since when have you needed one?” 

Devi shrugs. “True. Plus. That’s not exactly the track record I’m interested in keeping up.” 

His hands curl into fists at his waist. “You want to fuck in one of the bedrooms here?” 

“Wherever. I’m not exactly picky about location.” An idea comes to her, and she leans in a bit closer. “Or with whom.” 

Something that Devi thinks sounds like a growl comes from Ben, and he breaks, hauling her closer to him. Somewhere, in the rational part of her brain, she’s aware that they’re in plain sight of anyone walking past the house, in the party, and this is _not_ the time to basically be all over each other if they want to keep—whatever this is—quiet. 

But his hands are tight on her hips and that’s really what’s occupying most of her mind, so she doesn’t give a fuck. 

“You should stop threatening to find someone else, Devi,” he smirks, tilting his head. “You always come running back.” 

“Wanna bet?” 

Ben’s eyes darken. “You’re going to end up with me, I know it.” 

Devi steps back, legs slightly wobbly. “Come get me.” 

She doesn’t wait for his response, simply turns around and stalks off towards the house. 

Outside there are plenty of kids and it looks like a typical Halloween party, grinning pumpkins, toilet paper in the tree branches. 

“Whose house even is this?” Ben mutters in her ear, making Devi’s heart rate shoot up in surprise. His hand slides around her waist and tugs her back, just the slightest bit. 

Devi ignores how her skin ignites at his touch and cocks her head. “I don’t know for sure,” she confesses. “I think it’s someone on the football team. Riley? Ross? Something with an R.” 

Ben grimaces. “Great.” 

Devi extricates herself from his grasp and climbs up the steps. “I hope it’s him. Lots of football guys around,” she says, winking at Ben. 

He frowns, stuffing his hands in the pockets of the lab coat, and follows her. 

Inside it’s hot, crowded with people who are already _insanely_ drunk, and Devi has no idea how any of them are getting home. She dearly hopes no one is driving. 

She heads over to the refreshment table, Ben hot on her heels. “No drinking for you,” she smirks, handing him a bottle of water.

He twists the cap off and takes a sip. “I’m not exactly looking to sleep with drunk you either, to be honest.” 

Devi grabs a beer can. “Well, I won’t need much to start flirting with those guys.” 

Ben reaches his hand out and wraps it around her wrist, tugging her a bit closer. “Try it and see what happens.” 

“Is that a threat?” she whispers, wetting her lips. 

His eyes are fixed on her mouth. “It’s a promise.” 

He steps back then, leaving her aching for him, blood running so hot she feels like a volcano, ready to explode. “And,” he smirks, arching an eyebrow, “who said you were the only one who could flirt?” 

“You’re going to flirt with someone, Gross?” she smirks. “I didn’t even think you knew how to.” 

“Who says I’m flirting with anyone else?” There’s a smug expression on his face—they’ve barely started, and already she wants to lock them in the bedroom and have him say her name. “Maybe all I need to do is show you why you’re ending up with me.” 

Part of Devi knows the game she’s playing is futile. There’s no one else who she wants touching her, which is scary in a way she doesn’t want to think about. But it’s the truth. She knows, and she thinks Ben does too, that she doesn’t want anyone else’s hands on her. That the only person she wants to be with is Ben. But, that doesn’t mean the game isn’t a little fun, to up the stakes, make things a little more interesting. 

“Whatever you say, Gross. I’m not the one controlling you,” she says. “You can do whatever you want.” 

He smiles, smug. “Thanks for that, Devi.” 

Devi sticks her tongue out and steps into the living room, cradling her drink. Time to have a little fun. 

“Hey, Devi,” a girl in orchestra greets her. “You look great. Who are you supposed to be?” 

“Lara Croft,” Devi answers.

“Oh, like Angelina Jolie?” 

“More like the video game character.” 

The girl—Devi thinks her name is Allison—smirks. “Well, you certainly have the attention of a lot of guys here.” 

Devi glances around the room, catching the eye of several guys who smirk at her, clearly not ashamed to have been caught staring at her. 

Before, where their gaze would have been appreciated, where she would have considered making out with one of them before getting some sadly disappointing sex where she walked away completely frustrated, now she just finds herself completely bored. 

Because nothing like that sends a thrill down her back the same way Ben’s voice does. Nothing else any of these guys do. She catches a glimpse of several guys walking about with togas, clearly trying to pass themselves off as some Greek something or other, typical frat guys, muscles on display, and yet, while objectively, they might be attractive, they don’t make her heart race. 

Nothing makes her respond quite like the curve of Ben’s smile or the gentle press of his fingers against her waist. 

(but she doesn’t—doesn’t really want to think about why she doesn’t want anyone else, why she’s never really wanted someone else’s touch like she’s wanted ben’s, even as far back as sophomore year, how paxton had always been good, but never for her, because that’s danger—)

Devi takes a sip of her beer, only grimacing slightly, and shrugs. “Well, you know. Let them look.” 

Allison’s mouth dips. “You don’t want to hook up with any of them?” 

Devi frowns. “I don’t know if I’m drunk enough for that quite yet.” 

Allison opens her mouth to say something, but her eyes land on someone behind Devi. “Oh, Ben!” 

Ben hands Allison a drink. “Hey, Allison,” he says, grinning at her. 

Devi watches as Allison giggles, a slightly red blush appearing on her cheeks, and raises her eyebrow. Since when did Ben get smooth around girls? Since when did Allison even like him?

Well, to be fair, Devi doesn’t think she’s in any classes with her besides orchestra, so Allison might not have a lot of classes with Ben either. 

“Did you finish that annoying prep?” Ben asks, sipping his drink. 

Allison nods. “Yeah. I have to admit, I'm excited for this year! It’s my last, so I’m sad about that, but I think it’ll be fun!” 

“Excited for what?” Devi buts in. 

“Model UN,” Ben answers. “You know, that club that’s too smart for you?” 

She scowls at him. “Oh, fuck off.” 

Ben rolls his eyes. “Well,” he says, turning back to Allison, “I agree.” 

Devi curses him off in her head as she stomps off, ignoring the peal of laughter she hears behind her. Something dark and angry writhes alive in her stomach. Who the _fuck_ does Ben think he is? 

She shoves down the sudden urge to run back to them and throw her arms around his neck, pulling him in for a kiss and making him reconsider talking to anyone that isn’t her. 

Fine. Two can play that game. 

She tosses her hair over her shoulder, and steps over to a football player. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Ben glancing over at her, freezing as soon as he sees the football player leering at her. 

Devi ignores how her skin aches for his touch and flirts with the guy in front of her, laughing at all of his terrible jokes, pretending she doesn’t notice when his gaze lingers for a beat too long on her chest, touching his arm. Frankly, it’s a little boring, because she’s not _getting_ anything out of it. 

She’s only doing this for someone else, and she wants him. 

After a while, Devi gets a bit tired of flirting with the football player, and begs off, claiming she’s spotted a friend. When she rounds the corner, though, she crashes straight into Ben. 

He cocks an eyebrow, stepping closer, pressing her slightly against the wall. They’re in plain sight of everyone around them, but holy shit, with the way he’s looking at her, she couldn’t care less. “Was that fun?” Ben murmurs, eyes never leaving her face. 

He doesn’t even raise his hands to touch her, and it physically _hurts,_ how bad she wants him. Her body is in pain without him pressed up against her. 

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Don’t play dumb.” 

“I’m not.” 

“Was it fun flirting with someone else?” he repeats. “You only did it to piss me off.” 

“Not like you weren’t doing the same thing. Plus, you know, I decided to give him a chance.” 

Ben laughs. “What was his name?” 

Devi gapes at him a bit, spluttering. “Why—why do you care?” 

“I just wanted to know if you were thinking about him,” Ben says, voice dropping low, “or if you were thinking about me.” 

He places a hand on the wall next to her head, and it’s _worse_ than him touching her, because she can see it, can see the muscle in his forearm flex as the sleeve of the coat drops a bit, can see the hollow of his throat bob as he swallows, can see the way his pupils dilate the longer he looks at her. “If you were thinking about him touching you, or if you were thinking about me.” 

Devi scoffs. “Why would I be thinking about you?” 

Ben cocks an eyebrow, grinning sharply. “Maybe you need a reminder.” At that, he moves his hand, slips it around her waist, palm hot against her hip bone. 

She gasps, pushing her skin into his touch, and he smirks. “Thought so.” 

Then, he pulls back, cold air sweeping in and icing her skin in the wake of the inferno he holds on his hands. “Knew you were only thinking about me.” 

Devi glares at him. “I fucking hate you,” she spits out. 

Ben smirks. “No, you don’t.” 

“I do.” 

She raises her hands and shoves him back, and even that’s hard because she wants to curl her hands around that lab coat and pull him into her, but fuck if he’s going to beat her right now. He stumbles back, and she brushes past him, heading into a back room. 

They’re playing spin the bottle and Devi flops down. “I’ll play,” she announces. 

“Me too.” 

She whips her head around to see Ben sitting down next to her, narrowing her eyes at him. “Do you even know how to kiss someone, Gross?” she snipes, well aware of the eyes in the room on them. 

Ben raises an eyebrow. “Well, at least I don’t slobber all over people when I kiss them,” he bites back. 

“I wouldn’t even think you would have kissed anyone, considering what your face looks like.” 

“I’m not exactly the one whose hair always looks like a rat’s nest, David.” 

“Oh, screw you.” She turns back to the circle. “So, who’s spinning next?” 

They go around the circle, and there are a few people, but it still doesn’t land on her. She leans back to look at something, and nearly jumps in the air when she feels Ben’s hand slip around her waist, just under the hem of her shorts, his right hand rubbing circles into her hip. 

“What are you doing?” she hisses, keeping her eyes focused on the circle, seeing if the bottle lands on her. 

“I thought you weren’t into this, David,” he smirks, feeling entirely too close and too far at the same time. “Shouldn’t this just be annoying you?” 

And it’s annoying, but certainly not in the way she expected. It’s annoying because there’s no way she can get up right now and drag him off with her without attracting the attention of everyone in the circle, and the number one rule about this thing between them was that it had to stay quiet, had to stay between them. 

But god, she wants his hands all over her, not just on her hip. 

Then, the bottle lands on Ben. 

Before she can even react, his hand pulls away from her hip, leaving her feeling bereft, and he leans forward, kissing the girl whose bottle it is. 

It’s a chaste kiss, no tongue, lasting maybe a second, except she fucking _hates_ it. She hates that his lips have even touched someone else’s and she hates that he stopped touching her, she hates how he makes her crave him and how she only wants to spend time with him, she hates everything about him. She hates him.

(except she doesn’t)

Devi bites her tongue, trying to not stew, as he settles back down. He doesn’t try to touch her, and she’s grateful for that, because she’s not sure how she would react if he did. 

Either, kill him, or kiss him. 

Why are those always her two options when it comes to Ben? 

She taps her fingers on the floorboard until she hears someone calling her name. “What?” she says, head snapping up in shock. 

The bottle is pointing at her. 

“Oh,” she says. “Whose is it?” 

A guy on the opposite side of the circle raises his hand. Devi takes a moment to study him for a second. Cute, not insanely so. Brown eyes, sandy blonde hair. 

“Cool,” Devi says, and then she leans over, kissing him firmly on the lips. 

When she starts, she thinks it’s going to be like Ben’s kiss, quick and chaste, but then she remembers how he’d been touching her a moment before he kissed another girl and the anger rises in her gut, sharp and hungry. Let him have a taste of his own medicine for a second. 

So Devi tilts her head and deepens the kiss, turning it from perfectly chaste to something darker. She can feel the other guy get into it more, but she’s frankly not even paying attention to him. 

When she pulls away, the other guy is dazed, and she doesn’t even risk looking at Ben. “Well,” she proclaims, standing up and brushing imaginary dust off of her shorts. “That was fun, but I’m gonna go get something to drink.” 

She walks away and into the hallway, leaning against it to try and get her bearings. She doesn’t know what Ben’s going to do, but fuck, she wants to find out. 

Devi presses a hand to her chest, her heart pounding. She wipes her other hand across her lips, determined to get the feel of that other guy off of her, and then Ben appears. “You just keep bringing us back here, don’t you?” 

“You didn’t seem to have much qualms about kissing that girl,” she snaps, turning away from him and ducking into the bathroom. 

“Not like you had any about making out with that guy,” he says, following her in, shutting the door behind him. She glances up and catches his eyes in the mirror. “And you went way further than I did.” 

She doesn’t turn around, keeping their eyes locked in the mirror. “You don’t get to decide what I do, Gross. Like I said. Come and get me.” 

He steps forward, pressing her into the sink. “I already did.” 

Devi steps back, pushing him off of her, and turns around. His eyes are dark, dark blue, the center of a sapphire, as he looks at her. They’re almost black. “I don’t think you have. You’re going to need to work a little harder.” 

She runs her hands up his chest and slips the lab coat off of his shoulders, watching as his face scrunches up into one of confusion. 

Devi smirks at him, shrugging the lab coat over her shoulders. She watches the look on Ben’s face morph from confusion to something darker, heavier, dangerously close to lust. He watches her with that heavy, weighted look in his eyes, lingering on her hands as she buttons it up slowly, one at a time. 

“What are you doing?” he bites out. 

She winks at him before sashaying out the door. “I thought it’s standard procedure for the guy to give a girl his jacket when she’s cold,” she pouts. “I’m cold, Ben.” 

She’s fucking messing with him, of course. It’s insanely hot in the house, with so many people there, but she’s not doing this for them. She’s doing this for Ben.

Or, rather, for the way his eyes darken behind those stupidly attractive wire rimmed glasses as he scans her body head to toe. 

He follows her to the living room, standing a bit behind her.

“Devi?” a kid she vaguely recognizes from AP Euro asks. “Why are you wearing Ben’s coat?” 

“Lost it to me in a bet,” she answers flippantly. “He should have expected it, really. Right, Gross?” she smirks, turning to him, He stands behind her, arms crossed and glaring at her. “Can’t remember the last time you beat me at something.” 

Ben barely reacts, just rolls his eyes and sits down. 

Devi’s eyes narrow. Fine. He wants to play this game, she’ll play the game. 

She perches on the arm of the couch and crosses one leg over another, enjoying the way the lab coat rises up at the movement. Her shorts are short enough that it looks like she’s not wearing anything under the coat, her legs bare and on display, and, well, it’s probably a hot look on her. 

It’s definitely a hot look on her, if the way the eyes on the room suddenly start to linger on her are any indication. 

A guy actually comes over and starts talking to her, places his hand on her knee. She tries not to recoil at the feeling of his hand there, flips her hair and smiles at him. He disappears to get her a drink, and Devi smirks, ignoring how she can _feel_ the tenseness radiating off of Ben.

She feels a hand pinch her hip, lightly, so it’s not painful, but enough so that she feels it’s there, and smirks. 

Men are so easy, sometimes. 

“What, Ben?” she asks, not even turning to look at him as she runs a hand through her hair. 

“Stop being coy, Devi. You know what you’re doing.” 

“Please, Ben. I can’t be blamed for how healthy young teenage boys act. You wouldn’t be putting that on me, would you?” 

“You know what you’re doing,” he growls, and god, they’re so close to blowing her cover, but she’s so embarrassingly turned on she doesn’t even care. 

“I’m afraid I don’t. You’ll have to tell me.” 

“I’ll do you one better,” he bites out. “I’ll show you.” 

“Does that mean I win?” 

He pushes his glasses up with his finger, eyes shamelessly scanning her body. “We said, if I catch you, I win.” 

With that, he grabs her by the wrist and drags her away, and Devi can only hope and pray that everyone else is too drunk to remember this moment. 

Ben pulls her into the bathroom and shoves her up against the sink, slamming the door behind them and locking it. “You knew what you were doing when you took this from me, didn’t you?”

She cocks an eyebrow. “What?” 

“You wanted everyone to look at you. You wanted them to want you. What, am I not enough?” 

She shrugs. “I can’t help what they want, Gross.” She runs her tongue over her lips, watching as his eyes flicker down and then back up. “It’s not my fault.” 

He laughs darkly and steps forward, pressing her into the sink. “I think it’s time I reminded you why you don’t sleep with anyone else. And that you’re mine.” 

She bites back the gasp that threatens to escape her at the bite in his voice. “That’s very caveman of you, isn’t it, Gross?” 

“I don’t care. As long as no one looks at you like that. Admit it, Devi. You don’t want to be anyone else’s. You want to be mine. You’re wearing _my_ coat.” 

“I won’t.” 

He smirks. “You will.”

She squirms, desperate for his hands, wanting him to touch her so badly she can taste it. “You’re—you’re ridiculous, you know?” 

He leans forward, hands sliding up her legs to rest at her hips. “But you want me, don’t you?” he murmurs. 

“Who says I did?” 

“Just because you didn’t say it doesn’t mean it’s not true.” he whispers, and then, he kisses her. 

It’s the same kind of kiss the blonde guy gave her earlier, deep, but _fuck,_ that one had been so boring she’d nearly fallen asleep. This one energizes her like she’s had twenty five shots of caffeine, like she’s been injected with the voltage of a lightning bolt. 

She feels the counter press into her back painfully as Ben bends her backwards to kiss her harder, hand arcing down her back and pressing her into him, his glasses biting delightfully into her nose, like she’d wanted, and fuck, they’re about to have sex in a bathroom with a house full of people outside, and she likes it. 

Devi moans into his mouth when his hand comes up and slips into her hair, scratching lightly at her scalp, his other hand banding around her waist to tug her impossibly closer. 

She’s crushed between him and the sink, and she still feels like it’s not enough. 

Her hands fumble with his tie, tugging pathetically at it until she feels it give way a bit, and she keeps tugging at it until she feels it slip off his neck. She tosses the tie to the side and drags her hands down, unbuttoning his shirt. 

Holy fuck, why was this suit so goddamn _attractive?_

Ben finally pulls his lips from hers and starts undoing her—or rather, his—lab coat, the buttons coming apart easily. He slips it off and carefully lays it to the side, catching her staring at him. He smirks. “Wouldn’t want it to wrinkle, would we?”  
  
“Of course you would care about that,” she mutters, sliding her hands over his chest once the buttons of his shirt are all undone.

“There’s nothing wrong with taking care of your clothes, David. Of course, everything you wear is from Walmart, so I wouldn’t expect you to know.” 

She rolls her eyes, tugging him closer by the open buttons of his shirt before slipping the shirt off, pressing her fingers up his spine. “Well, at least I don’t spend almost $1000 on a set of silk pajamas.” 

“They’re silk pajamas from Turkey,” he corrects, hand flicking open the button of her shorts and tugging them down gently, letting them pool onto the floor. “They’re worth it.” 

“Ben,” she says gently, running a hand through his hair. “If I pay 1000 dollars for anything, it better come with a built in washer and dryer.” 

He smirks. “Of course it would need to, for you, wouldn’t it? You’re high maintenance.” She feels his hands run down her legs and pull her up gently, and she, as always, seamlessly understands what he’s trying to do, jumping up a bit and letting him catch her. 

He drops her on the counter, next to the sink, and starts pressing kisses up and down the length of her legs. 

She groans, tipping her head back. “Ben, you’re a fucking tease, you know that?” 

He grins against the inside of her knee. “Good.” 

“Come up here.” Devi tugs him up and kisses him, before moving her lips down to his throat and sucking on it. She thinks about the kiss he shared with that girl, the way Allison had smiled at her, and she digs her nails into his chest, causing him to wince in pain. 

Devi bites down hard on the skin of his neck and he swears. “Fuck, Devi.” 

His hands slip down her hips and tug her underwear down, and she gasps against his neck at the cool marble touching her skin. She doesn’t care that them leaving this bathroom with sex hair, swollen lips, bitten skin will be rather telling. 

She doesn’t care about anything other than leaving a mark on _his_ skin for other people to see, because she doesn’t want anyone else touching him. 

She’s never been the possessive one in the relationship, and Ben’s clearly the one who has a thing for marking her skin, but after seeing the way Allison had smiled at him, it makes jealousy coil in her gut. 

Once she thinks she’s left a deep enough mark, she pulls away, and the second she does, his hands smooth underneath her tank top and easily lift it off, leaving her in just her bra. 

Ben’s hands coast over every single inch of available skin, smoothing around her back to pull her a bit more up as he steps closer, bracketing himself between her legs. 

Devi tries to breathe, looking up at the ceiling and sucking in deep lungfuls of air as he sucks at her skin, a path of kisses from her hip to her breasts. His hands smooth up her back to the clasp of her bra, and just before he undoes it he tugs at the center of it with his teeth, causing a moan to slip from her throat, quiet and wanting. 

She slides the bra off her body once he undoes the clasp, and he presses kisses to her skin where the bra has cut into her body, just the slightest bit, fingers following in the wake of his mouth, smoothing over the afflicted areas. 

Ben drags his teeth over the curve of her breast and she gasps, clutching onto him tighter. “Oh,” she whines, enjoying the way the pleasure pools in her stomach, hot and leaving her wanting. 

“You’re going to have to be quiet, Devi,” Ben murmurs, lifting his head from her chest to look at her. “If you don’t want everyone to know what we’re doing in here.” 

She nods, gripping the edge of the counter. “O—ok,” she breathes. 

His eyes drag over her, lingering on her own. The bathroom light is dim, and she realizes he hasn’t flicked on the other light, leaving them awash in a soft, muted yellow glow. His eyes are impossibly blue in the dark, making Devi think of the blue morpho butterfly—which she did a project on in fourth grade—and they’re breathtaking. Ben’s eyes are the exact same color as the butterfly’s wings, and they drink her in, gazing at her languidly, slowly, like they have all the time in the world. “Or,” he says, leaning forward, lips brushing against her ear, a smile curling over his lips, “you could scream all you want. Just make sure it’s my name.” 

All of the breath in her lungs—if it was ever there in the first place—vanishes, leaving her scrabbling to take in oxygen, something to ease the way her head spins. God, she hungers for him, in the darkest pit of her stomach, in the deep recesses of her heart. 

“Ben,” she says, reaching a hand out and tugging him closer. “Get to it already.” 

He smirks, the corners of his lips turning up in such a way that makes her want to trace them with her fingertips, and drags a hand down her body.

When he reaches her thigh, he pushes her legs apart, leaving her open, and she gasps. 

He leans down and kisses her collarbone, exactly once. 

Ben drops kisses down her body exactly the same distance apart, like he’s working out the best path, the Silk Road of her body. He is an explorer, and she thinks he will not stop until he has discovered every inch of her. 

(devi ignores how badly she doesn’t want that to remain physical, how she wants him to explore all of the parts of her she keeps locked away, but then he’s pressing kisses to the inside of her thigh and—) 

His breath, warm, ghosts over her, and she bites her tongue to hold back a moan, resisting the urge to snap at him to get a move on. 

“Oh, wait,” he smirks, for a second. He flicks his eyes up to her own. “Gotta take these off.” 

He slips the glasses off and tosses them next to her on the counter, before dragging his tongue over her, sharp and fast. 

“Oh,” she moans, fingers curling around the edge of the counter. “Ben,” she pants. 

His hand wraps itself around her leg and shrugs it over his shoulder, not breaking his rhythm once the entire time. 

The pleasure builds in her system, slowly, but surely, and she blinks, trying to keep herself grounded, trying to remember every moment. It’s hard when she feels like she could fly apart at any moment, and she can’t stop thinking about the way his eyes had looked, the promise he had made her. 

“You’re thinking too much,” he murmurs, against her, and she nearly combusts, at the feeling of his breath puffing against her. 

“I—what?” she gasps, not following him. 

“You’re thinking too much,” he repeats, fingers stroking gently at the inside of her thigh. “Why?” 

She shakes her head. “I—I’m not thinking too much.” 

“Well,” he says, “I don’t believe you. But let me see if I can change that.” 

“Ben, you—” 

He leans down and flicks her clit with his tongue, and she keens, back arching. Black hair tumbles down her spine as Devi tosses her head back, moving one hand from hanging loosely to clutch at his hair. 

She feels—like she’s going to pass out, like she’s going to collapse right then and there. 

Then, one of Ben’s hands slides up and curls around her waist, gripping her tight, and she nearly combusts at how tight he’s holding her. 

The need in her stomach, the pleasure, intensifies, drags itself out, lacerating her veins and digging into her chest, as he pushes her closer and closer to the edge. It’s a torment, feeling so close to falling off the edge of the cliff but not _quite_ being able to reach it. 

A sob rips itself from Devi’s chest when he licks into her, and the craving, the need for absolution turns vicious. She’s insatiable, and the only thing that can quench her hunger is him, his skin against hers. 

“Ben,” she whimpers, tugging at his hair almost pitifully. “Ben, come on.” 

“You’re getting there, Devi,” he murmurs. “God, you want me so bad, don’t you?” 

Any other time, her pride would have kept her mouth shut, but he feels _so good_ and she is starved, ravenous for his touch after the night, after watching him flirt with someone else, after being tortured by his cobalt eyes on hers, watching the way they shift from azure to sapphire, and she can’t hold it back. 

“Yes,” she breathes, giving him the honest answer. “Just—just you.” 

“I’ll take care of you,” he whispers into her skin. “I’ll get you there, Devi.” 

“Do it _now,”_ she commands, eyes fluttering as she tries to keep them open. 

“So bossy,” he smirks. “I don’t know if I should listen to you. Maybe you should wait a little longer.” 

“You—you love it, Gross,” she says, gasping when he bites gently at her inner thigh. “Don’t even pretend.” 

“Hmm.” It’s all the answer he gets before his tongue is running over her again, and this time, he doesn’t go slow. 

The pleasure grows in her body with frightening speed, her body feeling like it's been ignited, about to explode. She feels like a firework, lit up, and ready to shatter into a million beautiful pieces. 

“Ben,” she repeats, climbing the mountain of pleasure. “I’m—almost there,” she breathes, her eyes sliding shut as she loses the battle to keep them open. 

And then he presses his tongue against her center, quick, and firm, and she crumbles. 

She gasps, gripping the sink so tight her hand hurts, but she barely registers the pain as she falls, bliss thrumming in her veins. The heat spreads through her body, blazing through her limbs, as she comes. 

Devi doesn’t even register the fact that Ben has pulled away from her entirely, except for his hands on her waist, until she comes back down from her orgasm, eyes opening slowly to find his own looking at her. 

“Do you know how hot you are when you do that?” 

Devi gingerly releases her hand from where it's gripping the sink, realizing as soon as she lifts it off she can’t fall, because Ben is holding her, pressing her into the counter, and runs it through her hair. “I can imagine,” she quips, or, rather, chokes out. “You know I’m always hot.” 

Ben rolls his eyes. “And you call me the one with the big ego.” 

Devi smirks, lazily reaching out a hand to tug him closer, tilting her head up so his lips catch on hers. She locks her ankles around his back as he kisses her leisurely, deliberately running his fingers up and down her spine so she bows into him.

She breaks apart, smiling at him coyly. “Why don’t you prove that your ego is earned?” 

He smiles at her, a loose, quick upturning of his mouth that has her heart in flutters, stomach in her throat. His eyes are almost black in the light—the blue black of the night sky—and hold a magnetic look to them. She’s compared Ben’s eyes to almost everything blue in the world, and she has yet to find something more beautiful. 

Ben slides a hand up, cupping her jaw gently, his fingers stroking her neck, and he leans in. “Only if you promise to say my name,” he smirks, eyes dancing with mirth. 

Devi arches an eyebrow, an unbidden grin coming to her lips. “I thought it was your job to make me want to.” 

“Well,” he breathes, “you know I never leave my work half finished.” 

He wraps his lips around her pulse point then and sucks hard, teeth dragging over that part of her neck over and over again. A whimper escapes her when he bites down, and she thanks her lucky stars she packed concealer in her overnight bag for tonight. 

Ben moves away from her lips and sucks a mark onto the top of her breast, before dropping away from her body entirely, looking for his wallet. Devi grips the marble of the counter tightly as she pants, waiting for the warmth of his skin on hers to wash away the cold. 

(because that is what ben has always been, her moon in a starry sky, her sun on a cloudless day, if for no other reason than he is constant, something she knows without fault will always be there—even if she can’t see it) 

“Oh!” she yelps, jumping when his fingers make contact with her skin. 

Ben laughs. “Sorry, I didn’t realize me being here was a surprise to you.” 

“I was just—” she stammers, “just thinking about something.” 

“About what?”

“I’m not telling _you_ that.” 

“As long as you start thinking about me right now,” he murmurs, before pushing into her. 

Unlike the last times, which had been fast, this is slow, and she feels her legs lock up around his back as he pulls her a little closer, eyelids fluttering. 

“I think,” she gasps, moaning quietly as he slips a hand down and presses it against her core, “that could be arranged.” 

He moves into her gently, as if they have time, and she’s always been one for quick fucks and dark corners, but this is—it’s different. It’s _reverent._

She’s not sure who is the one being revered. 

The desperation and anger, the inferno that had burned for the night has bled away, replaced by hot coals that simmer, that leaving her aching, wanting for more: more time, more touches, more him. 

Devi runs her hands down his back to his waist and pulls him even closer, gasping when he presses against that perfect spot inside of her. “Ben.” 

He buries his face into her neck, tongue flicking out to taste salt on her skin. “Devi,” he whispers, clutching her. 

The desire rises in her gut, gradually, bit by bit, as he picks up his pace the slightest bit and curls his hand around her thigh to hitch her leg further up his waist. Devi runs her hands over his shoulders, mapping out his own body. 

He knows hers like an explorer would know the world, and now it is her turn, to know him better than even himself, to know him at the ends of the universe. 

(she’s just returning the favor, ok? she can’t resist)

Devi digs her nails into his shoulder blades as he moves faster, and she gulps down air into her lungs, eyes drifting shut. 

“Oh, keep going.”

“Let go, Devi,” Ben murmurs. He nudges her jaw with her nose and presses his forehead to hers. “Let go.” 

She does. 

_“Ben.”_

His name is a quiet blessing she chokes into the air as she breaks apart around him, gently, almost, pieces flaking apart and drifting to the floor. It washes over her in waves that she happily surrenders herself to, like the tides that come in and fill pools along the side of beaches. He catches her as she tumbles and falls, eyes drifting shut in contentment, and nails leaving red marks on his shoulders. 

His orgasm is much of the same, and when he says her name like a prayer she wants to hear it over and over, wants to hear him speak about her in such a way. 

Ben whispers it again and again and again into her skin, even after they’ve both come down from their high, long after they’ve come back to earth. She still aches for him, still yearns for his skin against hers, but the hot coals inside of her have died down. 

Devi pulls back and looks at him, dark eyes scanning his face. He does the same thing to her, as if he covets her. 

(there are a thousand things left unsaid in his gaze, flickering through as quickly as the microfilm images on a broken stop motion reel. polaroids of memories lurk there—the sepia tones of model un and laughing in her kitchen, the stark black and white of sharing breakfast and malibu—a thousand things neither of them were ever brave enough to confront)

And then he blinks, and it’s gone, nothing but warmth left in his eyes. Devi swallows and looks away from him, focusing on the way her hands trace across his waist. 

If she kisses him right now, she might never stop. 

“You ok?” he asks quietly, fingers dancing along the edge of her jaw. 

She nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.” 

Ben’s eyes scan her, as if he’s looking for lies, but the thing is, she’s _not_ lying. She’s fine. Just a little uncertain. 

“Ok then.” 

They freshen up quickly and Devi, considering she only has an easy tank top and shorts to slip on, gets dressed much quicker than Ben. 

The dim light of the bathroom hides the way her cheeks flush as she watches him dress, something quiet, a bit of intimacy she’s not going to acknowledge right now. 

He drapes the tie over his neck, the open button down shirt slightly fluttering in the bathroom. He’s a bit looser now, than he normally is at school, the buttons of his shirt undone, the buttons at the ends of the sleeve open, leaving his forearms on display. 

There’s an interesting dichotomy to how he looks, in this bathroom, softer, easier to approach, and yet the open collar and stubble she can see gracing his jaw emphasizes a sort of ruggedness she’d never associated with him before. It makes her head spin, how he can make her want to bury herself in his neck and crave for him to kiss every inch of her skin. 

His hand comes up and flips the collar of his shirt up, and she sees the muscles of his forearm shift as he does so. 

Devi aches to reach out and trace them, to take her time and map every inch of him, to sear him into her memory like he seems to want to do with her. 

He shifts, moving closer to the sink, and he still hasn’t noticed her staring at him blatantly, running a hand through his hair to keep it under control. The open sleeves of his shirt fall back as he does this and exposes the skin of his forearm, pale, freckled, the veins, tinted slightly blue, that she wants to press her lips to, to trace the muscle along the length of his arm up to his shoulders and then to his face. 

In the mirror she can see the planes of his chest, made more alluring by the way the open halves of the front of his shirt hang, shadows playing over his skin. It’s hauntingly masculine, frighteningly attractive. She wants to slide her hands around his waist and press kisses to his back, breathe in the scent of him—sandalwood, like always. 

Devi considers craning her neck to see if she can see the spot she sucked into his skin when the shirt moves _exactly_ right, but even that’s a bit too much for her. He moves his arm to run his hand through his hair again, and through the thin white cotton of the shirt she can see the muscles of his shoulders move, and she desperately craves to press her lips to the plane of his back. 

She almost steps forward with the force of her desire, but holds back at the last second, ducking her head. 

Why is she acting like this? They just fucked in the bathroom, and she still wants him? What’s wrong with her? 

Ben buttons the sleeves of his shirt easily, and she mourns the loss of skin, wishing she had more time to look at him. 

He turns away slightly from the mirror then, and Devi watches his fingers button his shirt, nimbly and easily working up from the bottom. She feels heat rise on her cheeks when she thinks about how easily they had moved across her skin, flexing gracefully. 

He does the top button, and Devi can’t help the pang of disappointment that rockets through her at the hidden skin , but she shoves that down, focusing on how he reaches for the ends of his tie, crossing them over one another.

Ben knots the tie without trouble, something she finds far more surprising than she should (for some reason, she’d always thought of him as a clip-on kind of guy, but looking at him right now, the tie makes sense) and grabs his suit jacket, slipping it on. 

“Wait,” Devi says, stepping forward. 

He looks at her for the first time since he started getting dressed, wrinkling his brow. “What?” 

She reaches up and straightens his tie, resisting the urge to smooth out the wrinkles on his shoulders when she’s done. She grabs his lab coat—still unwrinkled, the bastard was right—and slips it on over herself, smirking at him. 

“Now you look presentable.” 

It’s more than that, she thinks. He’s handsome, so much so when she notices it it’s like a physical ache in her gut.

And then he smiles, and it knocks all of the air out of her lungs. 

It’s the same smile he’d given her back at the hotel room at Model UN, the same smile her very _soul_ has ached for for the past two years. 

(it’s the smile she’d broken after malibu, the smile she knows she no longer deserved and he’s giving it to her without expecting anything in return. she knows she’s not deserving of it, will never be, but god if she hasn’t wanted it more than anything else for two years. it soothes the rough edges of her heart in a way she didn’t think would be possible, and fuck her if anything she aches for it even more now, hovering fresh in her mind)

“Didn’t know you cared so much about my appearance, David,” he teases gently. 

“I don’t. You just can’t walk out of here looking ridiculous, or otherwise everyone will know.” 

Ben reaches a hand out and gently turns her towards the mirror. “I think they’ll know regardless,” he drawls wryly. 

Devi gasps at the red, blooming spot just underneath her jaw, a spot she can’t cover up at all with her hair. “Oh, fuck,” she mutters. “Do you think it’s noticeable?” 

His eyes lock with hers in the mirror, and he smirks. “I mean, I know where it is.” 

She whacks him without missing a beat, not even taking her eyes off the spot. “Take me to Fab’s house,” she sighs. 

Ben raises an eyebrow. “You want to go already?” 

She fishes her phone out of her purse. “It’s only 11:45. I don’t have to be at Fab’s until 2.” 

His eyes lock with hers, blue fire. “Do you want to go to her house now?” 

Devi should say yes, should stick to the rules of the arrangement and end this. They’ve hooked up. They’ve finished what they came here to do. She should step back and go to Fab’s house, should honor the Line of Demarcation here, should stick to her side of this war. 

But she can’t. Not when she wants him, wants to be around him, doesn’t want to leave him. And it’s _such_ a bad choice, so absolutely fucking idiotic. More than anything, it’s dangerous. 

Because Ben is dangerous. He is like quicksand: the more she struggles to get out, the deeper he sucks her in. 

She swallows roughly. She’s never been one for good choices, anyways. 

“No.” 

* * *

“We’re here,” he says softly. 

She’s had her heart in her throat for the past twenty minutes, fearful he was going to take her to Malibu, to the spot where everything changed, but they’re not there. 

“Where are we?” she asks softly. 

Ben sighs, head tipping back. The glasses are tucked into his suit pocket and glint in the light of the moon, the only light in the car. “I used to come here as a kid. I volunteered at this park. They shut it down after a few years, and now it’s abandoned. Not many people know about it.” 

He shuts off the car and slips out of it. “Come on,” he says quietly. 

Devi wraps the lab coat around herself tighter, the California chill finally getting to her late at night. She climbs out of the car, seeing Ben sitting on a set of swings a bit further away. 

Devi sits on the one next to him, gasping slightly as the cool metal brushes her skin, gently pushing herself back and forth. They’re silent for a moment, before she glances at him. 

He’s not looking at her, eyes flicking over the night sky. His face is tipped back towards the moon, and it turns him even paler. As someone with dark skin, Devi’s fascinated at how he looks in the light—not old, but classic, vintage, like he’s been dipped in silver nitrate and undergone a chemical reaction. Every single inch of him is deprived of color, bleached in shades of grey, except for the blue of his eyes, an oasis in the Arctic ice of his skin. 

“Ben,” she says quietly. “Why did you bring me here?” 

She can see this throat bob as he swallows, doesn’t turn to look at her. “Did you know we’re looking at billions of dead stars?” he says. 

Devi’s brow furrows. “What?” 

“We’re looking at the ghosts of thousands of stars, Devi,” he repeats. “All of the light we see, that’s traveled billions of light years to get to us. Some of those stars have to have died out in the time it took that light to reach us. I always thought that looking up into the night sky was like looking up into a graveyard.” 

Devi looks up as well, tilting her head. “I don’t think so,” she argues. 

“What?” Out of the corner of her eye, she can see him looking up at her. 

“It’s not a graveyard. It’s a time machine. Think about it. How many millions of miles does that light travel only to never be seen? You get to look into the past every time you look up at the night sky. You travel through time, for that moment.” 

“I never thought of it like that,” he murmurs. 

Devi wraps a hand around the rusted chain of the swing and peeks at Ben. “Why did you bring me here, Ben?” she asks again.

He casts his eyes down to the ground, sneaker kicking at the dead mulch. Devi is suddenly aware of how still the night is, how quiet everything is. 

(right now, they are hovering, carefully wading into a whirlpool, and neither of them are strong enough to resist the current, getting swept up in the gravity of the other, of who they are and aren’t to each other)

“I have good memories of this place. I was just, happy here,” he murmurs.

“Happy?” 

He shrugs. “Yeah. I mean, I didn’t play much as a kid. This park wasn’t even the closest one to my house, it wasn’t the best one, by far, but this was always the one that Patty would take me to when I wanted to play with other kids.” 

“Not your mom?” Devi blurts out. The second he flinches, she knows she’s said the wrong thing. 

Ben doesn’t even look at her, but his knuckles pulse white as he clutches the chains of the swing tighter. “No. Not my mom.”

Devi stays silent. She doesn’t push him. 

This is Ben’s Kryptonite, his Achilles heel. 

“No, the only person who ever really cared about me when I was growing up was Patty,” he continues. “I never had to be an NBA player. I could just be myself. But she had her own family, had her own boys to look after.” 

Devi bites her lip. She knows that Ben—that his parents have never loved him in the way he deserves to be loved. She doesn’t understand. For all that her mother and her fight, Devi knows she’s trying. For all that she misses her father, she’s never doubted that he loved her, not once. 

She aches to touch him, so sharply it is like a knife twisting in her gut. She needs to touch him, but she doesn’t want to—doesn’t want to break this. 

But she remembers how Ben had reached a hand out to her, how he had let her lean on him. He deserves the same thing.

So Devi doesn’t reach a hand out, but kicks her leg out, hooking her foot around Ben’s and pulling herself closer. He looks up into her eyes, and she nods. 

His hands shake where they grip the chains. “I got used to being lonely,” he says. “It wasn’t something I noticed anymore. It was just something that was.” 

He sighs. “There’s nothing tragic about this, Devi. It’s just a part of me.” 

“Ben,” she begins. 

He shakes his head. “I don’t want your pity, Devi.” 

“Whatever you need, Ben, I’ll give that to you.” 

“There’s nothing you can do.” He says it tiredly, like it’s an accepted fact, chiseled into stone, and Devi cannot—she will not accept that fact.

Ben glances over at her. Every time she looks at her, she feels like she is looking up at the night sky, like she’s looking into the past, at who he used to be, the ghost of the boy she’s grown up with for the past twelve years. A thousand versions of him flicker before her eyes—the boy she met on the first day of kindergarten, the boy she beat in the science fair, the boy she kissed on the cliff in Malibu, the boy she has always found herself tangled up in—always, always, back to him. 

(she thinks it ironic he brought them to a park—a place of children and childhood, and it reminds her more than anything else how long he has been in her life, how much of an integral part of her he is, how much she cannot ever hope to get him out, ever, and—)

Devi grips his hand, fingers curling around his palm. She doesn’t know _why_ she cares so much, she doesn’t think she should—but she does, and she’s not going to let him sit here and ache while she can do something about it. 

“You deserve better than that, Ben,” she says. 

He laughs bitterly. “I don’t even have a friend, Devi.” 

“I’ll be your friend,” she blurts out.

Ben shifts exhausted eyes to her. “I thought that blurred the lines.” 

She shakes her head. “Fuck that. I want to be your friend.” 

The look in his eyes hardens. “I don’t want your pity, Devi. I’m fine.” 

He tries to tug his hand out of hers, but she won’t let him. 

(she let him go once, and she’s not doing that again. she’s not letting him turn his back on her again. she’s not breaking this, again, shattering this peace) 

“It’s not a pity. We can be friends, Ben,” she says quietly. “I’ll be your friend. Let me be your friend.” 

He reaches up and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “You already are,” he whispers. 

She can’t help it, smiling at that. “Couldn’t resist me, huh Gross? I’m America’s sweetheart for a reason.” 

“Course you would see it like that,” he murmurs, quiet, warm. 

(devi has always thought of blue as a cold color, comparable to ice or the sky, the deep, deep ocean, chill, but when she looks at ben’s eyes, she cannot imagine how blue could be anything but warm, how it could bring anything but the greatest of joy—he is not ice and rain and cold water—he is blue licks of flame and the blue stars in the sky, exploding into a supernova) 

“So,” Devi affirms. “Friends.” 

He smiles at her, that same, bright and broad smile she loves. “Friends.” 

Devi clears her throat, her thumb stroking the back of his palm. “I’m sorry about your parents.” 

Ben’s expression closes, and he looks away from her. “It’s fine, Devi.” 

(devi has never really known boundaries, never really known when to stop pressing, and this is a tragedy because she doesn’t see that this is rubbing salt in the wound) 

“It’s not, Ben,” she pushes. 

Ben groans, tired. “Can we please not talk about it, Devi?” he snaps, trying to pull his fingers out of her hand. She still doesn’t let him go. “Please? I don’t really want to.” 

Devi falls silent at the sharp tone in his voice. If she could, she would reach into her own chest and pull her heart out, give it to him, press the affection she has into his heart, the way you press ink stamps onto a letter. 

“Ok. I’m sorry,” she apologizes. 

He shakes his head. “I’m sorry for snapping at you. I guess even I have a temper sometimes,” he smirks, dimple in his cheek materializing as he looks at her. It reminds her of a sinkhole, opening up in the earth. “I just—I don’t want to talk about it.” 

Devi nods. “I get it.” 

She looks at him, wondering what to say. 

But there’s nothing to say. There’s nothing left here. Sometimes, you just have to take the pain. 

She thinks of a lightning storm. Ben’s hand is still wrapped around hers, and she knows that they are a lightning rod, metallic, the stinging taste of electricity in the air. She knows that they are torrential. It is only a matter of time before lightning strikes, splitting open the sky, white against the dark clouds. Rain lashes at her face the same way pain lashes at her heart.

But Devi has never been afraid of lightning. What she is worried about is the thunder, the way even the steadiest of tree trunks reverberate in the sound. 

(she is worried what will happen _after)_

His hand tightens around hers. His eyes are like two stars, burning blue against the night sky.

(when he touches her she feels _known,_ she feels _true,_ like she is grounded for the first time in her life. devi has always been the compass point, spinning around without a place to land, and ben, ben is her north pole, the forces of magnetism that show her where to be)

She keeps him here, tries not to stare at the celestial bodies he holds in his eyes, irises more fascinating than anything on earth. 

Devi looks at the stars then, white and gold pinpricks dotting the sky. 

There’s an old poem she used to read as a kid, and she remembers a line from it. 

_Nothing gold can stay._

Because that is what she and Ben are. They are gold, the color and taste of ambrosia colliding together. They are transitory, fleeting beings. Whatever has erupted between them, the nuclear fusion of starfire elements—that has come about because of their hands and lips and bodies colliding like two galaxies—cannot stay. It cannot survive. 

Everything dies, and Devi knows that even after, the imprint of him on her will linger, the same way the ghost light of stars lingers in the night sky. 

There is nothing she can do but take a deep breath and linger with him, here and now. Nothing gold can stay. 

(she wonders which one of them will be the one to destroy it)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> your comments and kudos make me happier than kamala reading riverdale fanfic! come talk to me about the show! you can find me on tumblr: @[parkersedith](https://parkersedith.tumblr.com)


	5. act v: and you say what have i got to lose?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _She stares Ben right in the eyes, unflinching, even with all eyes in the room on them._
> 
> _By the way his jaw clenches almost imperceptibly, she knows he knows what she’s about to say, before she even says it._
> 
> _“I yield to the chair.”_
> 
> _It garners much of the same reaction it had when she was in sophomore year, gasps and sounds of shock all around her, but she doesn’t care about anyone else’s reaction. Her eyes are on him._
> 
> _The set of his jaw shows that he’s angry, but his eyes are dark, pupils wide. They’re the same color as his tie, which is dark blue against his shirt. He likes this._
> 
> _Devi smirks. Game, set, match._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is brought to you by me and leila's shared brain cell and rose's alphabetized bookshelf
> 
> hey guys! sorry again to make y'all wait almost a week for this, but first, these chapters are hella long, so like, the fact that i got this written so quickly is kinda impressive, and secondly, i had a few other fics i needed to finish up, so those took precedence. 
> 
> this chapter serves as a sort of homage to two iconic episodes, 105/106, so i hope you guys can spot all the similarities/references (you should i did _not_ try very hard to hide them) this chapter is an emotional rollercoaster (as is the rest of the fic) and i can't wait to see what you guys think!
> 
> disclaimer: this chapter features extremely, _extremely_ light bondage. this is not a bdsm fic in any way. it's more romantic than anything, anything else. it honestly doesn't feature as a large portion of this, but if you guys aren't into that, that's of course, totally fine, and i encourage you to skip over that section and simply read whatever you want. thank you!
> 
> as always, major, major thanks to leila for checking all my science in this chapter, especially when i text her in a panic about stars and vaccines! love you leila! thank you so much!
> 
> (chapter title from “little red corvette” by prince)
> 
> k enjoy, thank you!

They’re sitting on his bed, spent, when he brings it up. 

“So,” Ben says, trailing his finger over the curve of her shoulder.

(like always, she feels his touch burn through her, not an inferno but a match, slow, steady, hot, warming her from the inside and out. no matter what he is doing, if it is innocent or wicked, it still makes her feel like she is warm, warm, warm) 

Devi glances over at him from where she’s been scrolling through Instagram on her phone and raises an eyebrow. “I know I’m a genius, Gross, but I’m not a mind reader. I’m going to need a little more.” 

“If you had a superpower, it wouldn’t be mind reading. It would be—what, like pyrokinetics, or something?” 

“Pyrokinetics? Like, fire powers?” She locks her phone and tosses it on his dresser, rolling over. She doesn’t know  _ what _ the hell he’s going on about. 

“I don’t know, what superpower would you want?” 

“I wish I could make you shut up.” 

He smirks. “You could if you tried.” 

She rolls her eyes. “So, what, Ben?” 

He sighs, looking away from her. “So, the Model UN team is going to Davis this weekend. You know, for a tournament.” 

Devi blinks at him. 

(suddenly, she is back on the floor of a hotel room, back pressed against a bed, drinking some shitty wine, while she is looking into ben gross’s impossibly blue eyes, while he smiles with her, laughs with her, and she thinks, for a split second, that he’s a much better guy than she thought, that maybe there’s a little bit of merit to bridging this chasm between them)

“Okay,” she says, slowly. “Why are you telling me this?” 

“I’m going to be away this weekend. I just—wanted to let you know.” 

Devi narrows her eyes at him. “What are you getting at, Gross?” There’s something else at play here, something he’s not letting her know. 

Ben leans back against the pillows on his bed. Devi’s eyes fall to the red mark on his shoulder, the one she gave him just now, and she reaches a hand out to gently rub over it. “Ben,” she pushes. “What?” 

“Do you want to come with me?” he blurts. 

Devi jerks back in shock. “What?” 

Ben groans, dragging his hand over his face. “Forget it.” 

Devi grabs his hand and pulls it away from his face, looking him in the eyes. “You’re not getting off that easy, Gross,” she snaps. “What?” 

He tugs his wrist out of her hand, biting his lip as his eyes flicker away and then back to her. “I was wondering if you would want to come to Davis on the MUN trip,” he asks softly. 

Devi’s mouth drops open, just the slightest bit. “Ben, that’s—that’s—” 

“A violation of our agreement, I know.” He glances over at the agreement, which is pinned up in his room. “I was thinking maybe we should get rid of that.” 

She stares at him in shock. They’ve had this pact for—for  _ years. _ “Why?” 

He shrugs. “We’re friends now, aren’t we? Maybe we could do this one thing together.” 

Devi bites her lip. “Ben, I don’t—” 

“Look, Devi,” he says, leaning forward. He places a hand on her leg, heat bleeding through the sheets to her skin. “I get it, ok? I’m sorry if I overstepped. I just—I thought we could have some fun.” 

(is it bad that she’s tempted? after sending in her early action applications a few weeks ago, she’s even  _ less _ inclined to spend time in school. all she wants to do is spend time with her friends, to enjoy the last moments of time she has with them before they all separate. and, the thing is, ben is one of her friends now. he’s become one of the people she wants to spend time with.

(sometimes she thinks they should stop what they’re doing, now that they’re actual  _ friends, _ but then she thinks about throwing away the chance to have his skin against hers sooner than absolutely necessary and she can’t bear to do it)

it’s fucking dangerous, but—she wants to spend more time with him. she’ll do that in any way she can. especially now, when their time together is dwindling, when it is vanishing faster than sunlight in a forest glade) 

Devi swallows. “Ok.” 

Ben’s eyes widen. “Really?” 

She nods, a smirk twisting her lips. “You really think I’m going to pass up the chance to beat you, again? Never, Gross. I’m taking that Best Delegate Gavel home, and you’re going to have to live with it.” 

He laughs. “You can try all you want, David, but I’m winning.” 

“I don’t know,” she hums, “history has shown that when it comes to you and I at MUN, I’m usually the one who comes out on top.” 

Ben reaches out and slides his hands around her hips, pulling her on top of him. “Like this?” he smirks. 

Devi presses her hands into his shoulders. “You know I’m right.” 

Ben grins up at her. “You know,” he says, leaning in and whispering in her ear, conspiratorially, even though they’re the only two in the house, “now that you’re coming, we can have sex in a hotel room.” 

“Sex in a hotel room?” she quips, scrunching her nose up. “I don’t know, Gross. I must admit, I’m kind of worried. If I beat you, you might not be able to perform as well.” Her eyes sparkle, and she bites back her lip to keep a laugh from bubbling out. 

“Were you unsatisfied just now?” His eyes glimmer up at her, shining cerulean.

(she looks down at him and looks all ability to speak. she doesn’t know why whenever she looks into his eyes, she loses a bit of self, loses her bearings. it’s like falling into the ocean, into a lagoon, how, the longer she looks at them, the deeper she gets pulled in. sometimes she wishes she could just sit here and look into his eyes, find all the different shades of blue that make them up, without attracting suspicion) 

He raises an eyebrow. “Are you questioning my skills? After we just did?” 

“I’m not questioning them. I’m just saying, I’m going to obliterate you.” 

“If you do that you won’t get any more sex,” he says dryly. 

“Like I said, Gross. I’m a genius. I’ll figure it out.” 

She laughs as he tosses her on her back and kisses her neck. “I’m sure you would,” he murmurs. 

“You know so.” 

He leans down and kisses her, body pressing her into the bed. Her hand comes up to cup his jaw, the other coming up to run through his hair, and he kisses her enough so that her lungs burn for air, so that she needs to breathe. She doesn’t want to, though, wishes that she had been fashioned for the cold blackness of space so that oxygen was not a necessity for her, that she may be able to lay here with him forever and kiss him. 

Ben pulls back, giving her room to breathe.    
  
(he is always giving her room to breathe) 

“Thank you,” he murmurs, thumb stroking down the side of her cheek.

He rises off of her then, rolling back to his side of the bed, grabbing his book off his nightstand, while she grabs her phone. She settles back against the pillows while he opens his book. “Can’t wait to see you fail,” he laughs. 

She just shakes her head and goes back to scrolling through her phone, sneaking glances at him ever so often as he reads. 

(his eyes scan over the pages, and devi remembers how she read once that blue pigments in nature are exceedingly rare, that things are only made blue because of structure, the way the light and air hit them, rather than the actual color they contain. she tries to picture him with any other color of eyes, but she—can’t. when they met (all of five years old, her in a polka dot dress and him in a sweater vest) the first thing she noticed about him was the color of his eyes, and now, over a decade later, she thinks they are what she lo—likes most about him) 

A warm feeling bursts in her chest, and she shoves it down, ignoring it and instead enjoying the sunlight spilling in from the window, the peace and quiet of being here.

* * *

Devi flips through her notes, studying the graphs of the projected Ebola outbreak numbers in Mauritania, Liberia, Sierra Leona, and Nigeria. She bites her lip, chewing on it. 

Ben flops down next to her, and she immediately flips her notes shut. He smirks. “Worried I’ll beat you?” 

“I’m not worried about anything, Gross,” she scoffs. “I just don’t trust you.” 

He crosses his arms. “So you’re learning. Good job, young padawan.” 

“I don’t watch those movies. I’m too pretty.” 

“Don’t quote Gina Linetti at me,” he deadpans. 

Devi flips him off without even stopping, rifling through her bag and pulling out her chapstick. “Someone tell me why you couldn’t drive us there?’ 

He groans, glancing over at Shapiro as the bus rumbles underneath them and turns a corner. “Because, if something happens to us on the way to the tournament, then the school is liable for it. So we have to take the bus.” 

Devi swears under her breath. “I hate this.” 

“It’s fine. This way, I have more time to play mind tricks on you. Like, a fiddle.” 

She gives him a withering stare. “Please, Ben. A fiddle is so easy to play. I’m harder, like, an oboe.” 

“Please. As if you would ever be a reed instrument.” 

“Well, I’m not a harmonica, like you,” she smirks. 

He scowls at her before turning back to his notes, opening his binder. Devi sneaks a glance. 

“You know Ebola is a zoonotic disease, right, Gross?” 

“Yes, David, with an animal reservoir in bats, I know.” 

“Well, actually, we don’t know the true animal reservoir for Ebola, even if it is likely to be bats. Plus, we all know I’m going to crush you as France.” 

“Did you just try and mansplain animal viruses to me?” 

“What, are you into it? I get it, French chicks are hot.” 

“You shouldn’t even be meddling in this,” he scowls.

“You’re the United States. Literally everyone hates your guts.” 

“Yeah, well, you guys suck as well. Everyone just knows you from the  _ Ratatouille _ movie.” 

Devi’s mouth drops open. “Are you serious? You’re always the country getting invaded in all of the alien movies.” 

“At least the aliens know we exist.” 

“So they can kill you!” 

“Hey!” Shapiro appears. “Guys, keep it down. Seriously, take a nap, or something. We have to check in, have dinner, and tomorrow morning we have a day and a half of straight meetings. So, please? Stop?” 

Devi nods stiffly. “Sorry, Mr. Shapiro.” 

“It’s fine. Just, save it for the Security Council, ok?” 

Ben sighs, leaning back in his chair as soon as Shapiro is gone. “I’m winning that Best Delegate Gavel, David. I am.” 

“Please. We all know I’m the better one at this. Remember sophomore year? I came in and crushed it without any kind of prep.” 

He blinks, shock in his ocean eyes, and she feels a bit of guilt pool in her stomach. 

(they—they’ve managed not to talk about the weird truce of sophomore year and the mun trip then, although devi doesn’t know exactly  _ how, _ considering they’re going back to the first place where she thought ben gross was a decent person (that’s a lie, that’s been a recurring thought since she was 8, she’s going back to the first place she thought they could be something other than enemies) as friends, and bringing it up unearths a whole mess of emotions she’s definitely not ready to unpack) 

“Well,” he smirks, recovering easily, “I’m going to win. I’m better, now.” 

“Still going to screw you over, Gross.” 

“In more ways than one?” he asks cheekily. 

She slaps him on the shoulder. “You’re better than that.” 

“Come on, David, even you have to admit, you walked into that one.” 

Devi purses her lips and looks up at him through a curtain of hair, failing to hold back a smile. “I did,” she confesses, and the answering laugh he gives her is bright and beautiful. 

She smiles back and tries to ignore the sinking feeling that she’s failing at something she’d promised herself. 

* * *

Devi steps into his room, eyes widening in shock. “Whoa,” she breathes, glancing around her. “How come you get a room to yourself?” 

Ben raises an eyebrow. “Who do I need to name drop this time to remind you who my dad is?” 

Devi shrugs. “I don’t know. You haven’t done an actor lately.” She snaps her fingers. “Female actor, go.” 

“Well, David, my dad’s clients  _ are _ very important people, such as Jane Lynch, so, you know. This happened.” 

Devi kicks off her shoes and sits down on the floor, back pressed against the bed. She sighs in relief, tipping her head back and looking up at him, where he’s standing with his arms crossed over his chest, looking down at her. “So, what did you want to do?” 

Ben smiles, mirth in his eyes. “You didn’t think I called you here for sex?” 

She snorts. “I’m flattered, but, no. You’re too wound up about MUN to be any good. Tomorrow night, maybe a different story,” she winks. 

He pulls a folder out, gripping it tightly. “I thought we could form an alliance.” 

“United States and France? What is this, World War II?” 

“From what I remember from well,  _ everything, _ you were the ones who let the Nazis invade, so, maybe I should go take this to Russia.” 

She leans forward and yanks the folder out of his hands, opening it. “Not if you want this to actually work.” 

Ben sits down on the bed, looking down at her, crossing his legs. She’s well aware of how quiet he is, for once, how loose and relaxed he looks, dressed in pajamas for the night. 

(it’s happening more and more, these quiet, intimate moments between them, and it’s getting harder and harder for her to write it off as things that happen just between friends, casual. especially because the t-shirt he is wearing looks  _ so _ soft and she wants to press her cheek into it and wrap her arms around his back, breathing him in, slowly) 

Shaking her head as if to clear those errant thoughts from her mind, she looks down at the folder, ignoring how the mere presence of him makes her heart race.

She finishes reading his proposal and purses her lips. “Not a bad idea, Gross,” she smirks. “Not at all. Of course, we’d have to replace the killed vaccine with the live one, but, overall, a pretty solid plan on both of our parts.” 

“Knew you would see it that way, David. I  _ am _ brilliant.” 

Just then, a knock sounds at the door. “Room service.” 

Devi raises an eyebrow. “You’re still hungry?” 

Ben hops off the bed and grabs his wallet, heading to the door. “I’m a growing boy,” he says, by way of explanation. 

He pays the waiter and grabs the food, which Devi now recognizes as pizza. 

“Wow, Gross, I would have thought you would have gotten something more expensive.” 

“First of all, this pizza is made with goat cheese that is from rare goats in the Andes mountains, cherry tomatoes grown on Michael Buble’s Sicily farm, and flour that’s milled in Morocco, so, it’s fancy pizza. Plus, I just wanted pizza.” 

Devi smirks. “Fair enough.” 

He tosses the box in front of her. “Help yourself,” he says, sitting across from her.

“Seriously?” At his nod, Devi opens the box, pulling out a slice and biting into it. “Thanks.” 

He shrugs. “Sure. So,” he smirks, pulling out his own slice, “why are we replacing the killed vaccine with a live one?” 

She furrows her eyebrows. “Uh, because the live vaccine is the better choice?” 

Ben scoffs, wincing when he bites into the hot pizza. “Uh, in what world?” 

“This one? As proven by statistical models?” 

“The live vaccine might be better at providing immunity, but it’s incredibly imperfect. You can’t use it for older/immunocompromised patients. It’s better to vaccinate a wider range of the population with booster shots.” 

“Ok, first of all, we’re largely vaccinating areas of Western Africa,” she argues, “where the average lifespan is 60 years. It’s pathetically low, but this means we don’t have many people who are older existing in the population. The live vaccine provides a good defense against Ebola for these people.” 

Ben shakes his head, brushing crumbs off of his hands into the pizza box. “We still shouldn’t ignore the population of older individuals that  _ do _ exist in the population, and besides, what about the immunocompromised people? Rates of HIV are high in Africa, and the killed vaccine means they can get it.” 

“Rates of HIV in West Africa are about 1-5%, nowhere near as high as South Africa. The killed vaccine just isn’t worth it, Ben. The booster shots it requires because it generates a way weaker adaptive immune response is  _ costly,” _ she argues, grabbing another slice. 

Ben frowns at her. “You want to talk about cost? The live vaccine has to be stored  _ cold, _ Devi, and transported as such. That’s a huge drain on resources.” 

“So is getting booster shots.” 

He grabs the last slice out of the pizza box and tosses it to the side, leaning back against the bed. “I’m not going to convince you to switch to the killed vaccine, am I?” 

Devi sighs. “I’m not saying you don’t make good points, Ben. I just think that the live vaccine will prevent us from having to go back into the area and fix problems two years down the line.” 

“The things I do for you,” he mumbles. “Fine.” 

She slugs him in the shoulder. “Stop pretending that you don’t need me, Gross,” she smirks. 

“Just this once,” he smirks back. 

He looks at her, and suddenly, she feels all the oxygen leave her lungs. 

The dim light of the room reminds her so much of those few moments they spent, reaching across a divide. Looking back on it now, Devi can hardly fathom why there was a divide. 

(perhaps there was a divide because she needed there to be one, because she couldn’t face the actual truth that was staring her in the face. is it a divide if they pushed each other away, if they fought with each other? deep, deep down, in some dark part of her, devi knows that all she was in the wake of malibu was scared. scared because of him, because of—)

He swallows, shadows playing over his face, eyes almost glowing robin’s egg blue, and her eyes flicker down to his lips. 

She can’t breathe. 

Sometimes it feels like her and Ben are planets trapped in orbit, going round and round the same elliptical path. They’re back here, on the floor of a hotel room in Davis, so close and yet so far from what happened two years ago it makes her head spin. 

It feels so much like sophomore year, both of them on the cusp of something more, of something that would change everything, but she’s—she’s the coward. In all of this, she is always the coward. 

(she might have been the one who kissed him on that cliff in malibu, but he has always,  _ always _ been the one to reach out first, to wait for her, to be ready, to be patient, to be the brave one, and suddenly, she is terrified at how much she wants him to reach out now. she doesn’t think she would be able to run away this time) 

She wants to kiss him  _ so _ badly, and—they’re sleeping together, so like, there’s nothing weird about her doing that. 

Except she doesn’t  _ want _ to sleep with him in this moment. She just wants to kiss him, wants to feel his lips against hers, the scrape of his stubble against her palm, his heartbeat pressed against hers. 

Devi looks away from him, her hands shaking. She’s not brave enough for this right now, low light playing over his face and the sound of his laugh still reverberating in her ears. She needs to go, needs to run away from him, to bring herself back. 

(it’s a horrible habit she doesn’t know how to kick, running away from ben. she’s been doing it for two years straight, and she doesn’t know how to stop, even now) 

“I have to go,” she mutters, hopping off the bed. “We have a busy day tomorrow.”

“Right. Yeah.” He stands up, brushing his hands on his pants. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Devi.” 

She smirks, slipping her feet into her shoes. “Rest up, Gross. You never know what could happen.” 

Ben shoves his hands in his pockets. “I’m counting on it.” 

Devi opens the door and waves goodbye before she can reconsider her decision, closing it firmly behind her. 

She doesn’t let her hand linger on the doorknob, and sets off back to her own room. 

* * *

Devi folds down the collar of her blouse, smoothing her hands across her skirt. The white blouse hangs perfectly on her, black blazer draped over her shoulders without a speck of dust on it. 

She’s going to win that Best Delegate Gavel, and she’s going to lord it over Ben, and she’s kind of excited to see what he does in response. 

Devi tilts her head and brushes her fingers over the fading mark on her neck, so faint she almost doesn’t need concealer. 

She’s still not risking it though, so she grabs her makeup and covers her neck, careful not to get anything on her white blouse. 

She tosses the concealer back and pins her hair up, breathing out and looking at herself in the mirror. She’s got this. 

Devi knocks on Ben’s door two minutes later, waiting for him. 

“It’s open,” he calls. 

She twists the doorknob and enters, seeing him dressed in a white shirt and navy pants, matching jacket clearly slung over the chair. 

“Hey, you ready to go?”

He glances up at her. “Yeah, just give me a minute to grab everything. I have the notes for our plan today in my bag, if you wanna look.” 

He nods to the messenger bag on the table before ducking into the bathroom, and Devi has to bite back a smile. Of course, he’d have the closest thing to a real briefcase without actually having a briefcase. 

(it’s one of the little details about ben she’s slowly, but surely been compiling, like how he takes his coffee (with milk, one sugar) and his obsession with chewing spearmint gum, how he hates tomatoes and fanta, the way he always scratches at the side of his jaw when he’s thinking about something and the way his eyebrows drop when he’s actually,  _ really _ listening to her) 

Devi flicks open the bag and pulls out the folder, but something in the bottom of the bag catches her eye, shiny and metallic. She lifts it up to see what it is and freezes. 

“What do you think?” he asks, walking back into the room. She glances over at him, heart in her throat, and notices his gaze is fixed down at his hands, which are knotting his tie. “I thought it was a pretty good resolution, after I fixed what we talked about yesterday, of course.” 

He glances up and smiles at her, but the smile freezes on his face when he catches what’s in her hand. 

“Ben,” she says, hand shaking as she raises the item. “What is this?”

His hands fall from his chest, and he swallows roughly. “It’s a Princeton lanyard.” 

She steps closer to him. “Where did you get it?” Her voice is shaking so much more than her hand, and it—it’s a futile question. She has the very same in her bedroom. 

“At a campus visit,” he whispers, as if saying the words quietly will make them easier to hear. 

It’s not the case. She feels them like bombs dropping on London, like an atom bomb going off in the pit of her stomach, a visceral, violent reaction she cannot contain. 

She drops the lanyard like she’s been burned by it and backs away. “You—you applied?”

He nods. 

(it should not be affecting her this much, the knowledge that he applied to princeton, that—that he could be going there. in her heart she knows there’s a very, very good chance. ben’s the smartest person she’s ever met (besides herself), and if he applied and she applied, then—is he going to follow her?

(part of her hates the idea, because—because they’re  _ them _ and they don’t talk about shit like this, they leave it buried under the sand, corkboard kisses that bottle up their emotions like a shook glass of champagne, they don’t talk about  _ the future _ and they don’t talk about what could be.

devi hates it because for some reason, she thinks flying across the country to college will be enough to escape him, to escape this tangled web of emotions they have built up and a past she is not yet ready to confront, one she doesn’t know she’ll ever  _ really _ be able to face, honestly)

and part of her wants to beg him to come with her, to somehow convince him to continue whatever arrangement they have going on there, because she’s already not sure if she can continue without his smile pressing against hers) 

This is how they work. Devi runs, Ben follows. 

She breathes in. “Why? Didn’t you want to go to Yale?”

“Princeton is one of the best schools in the country. I would be an idiot not to apply.” 

“You’re an idiot  _ now!” _ she snaps. She presses her hands to her forehead. “Why—why did you apply?” 

“Devi, why is this such a big deal to you? So what if I go to Princeton? Why do you care?” 

There it is.  _ Why do you care? _

Because she does. She does care. The idea of Ben coming with her, following her, being there with her, she cares about it. Because she cares about him. He’s her friend and—she doesn’t know how to handle this. 

Yelling seems like a pretty good option, actually. 

“Why did you keep this from me?” she snaps. “I didn’t even know you were applying!” 

Instead of yelling back, Ben just rubs his forehead with his hands, looking exhausted. “Devi—” he starts. 

She doesn’t give a  _ fuck _ what he has to say. “I can’t believe you lied to me, Ben.” It hurts, that he kept this information from her, that he didn’t tell her this. It’s  _ important. _

“Devi, I don’t have to tell you everything going on in my life! God, we’re not married!” he yells back. 

Devi clenches her fists. “You broke a rule, Ben. Rule #2, remember. Communication. You didn’t communicate. You  _ lied,”  _ she seethes. 

(they’ve broken rules before but this—this one is different, hurts a lot more than she thought it would. because beyond the rules they’re  _ friends, _ and friends tell each other shit like this, friends don’t lie and hide, and somehow the betrayal of this nascent friendship hurts a lot more than she thought it would. it doesn’t make any sense, considering they’ve been friends for all of two weeks, but it hurts)

“I didn’t tell you because I knew you would react like this!” 

“Like what?” 

“Like you had lost your mind! David, not everything is about  _ you. _ You understand that me going to Princeton doesn’t automatically mean you can’t, right?” 

She’s so upset with him right now, she can’t even look him in his blue, blue eyes. She’ll lose her resolve, if she does. “I can’t believe you, Ben.” 

“Devi, just—calm down. Look, it’s not a big deal, ok. I don’t even know if I got in. I just applied,” he tries, stepping towards her. 

She can’t—can’t do this right now. “You’re unbelievable,” she spits, before stalking out of the room, slamming the door shut behind her. 

* * *

She doesn’t look at him for the first half of the day. 

She can’t. Not only is she so mad at him she’s seeing red, but his gaze keeps flickering over to her, and she knows, she  _ knows _ that if she looks at him, she will crumble, give into him again. She can’t seem to stay mad at him when the piercing, ultramarine quality of his eyes is looking at her, like she’s the only thing in the world.

(she’s swept up in him, and she misses him so much already, misses her friend, that her will is already crumbling, her resolve shattering) 

After lunch it’s just as tense, and as they near the time when their resolution was going to be proposed, Devi feels the tension between them grow. 

And then the chair brings up the epidemic in West Africa. 

Devi lifts her placard instantly. 

“Delegate from France.” 

Devi stands up and, hands splaying flat on the table, and speaks. “I propose that we pull all of the support from the United States out of the region instantly.” 

Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Ben’s jaw clench. 

“Do—do you have a reason for that?” 

Devi flicks her eyes over to Ben, narrowing them at him. Let him piss her off. Fine. She  _ is _ going to screw him over. 

“Secondary infections have been at an all-time high only in health care workers from the United States. Clearly, regulations have not been followed. Not only are we putting more people at risk for Ebola without proper sanitation and containment measures, we’re putting these healthcare workers at risk to suffer post-Ebola virus complications.” 

Ben raises his placard then, and barely waits for the man to give him the ok before he shoots up. 

“The delegate from France is being extremely impulsive,” he says, addressing everyone in the room, but looking only at her. He curls his hands into fists and presses them against the table, mirroring her posture, staring into her eyes. 

Devi feels the tension between them thicken, turn the air crimson. 

(is there a reason red is both the color of passion and of anger? right now, they’re so closely intertwined in her blood she doesn’t think she can ever separate them out. it’s always ben, whether they’re arguing or kissing, who makes her blood simmer, her body feel on fire, like she is red personified) 

“The United States contributes far more resources to combating this issue than any other country. Asking them to pull out because of secondary infections is ridiculous. It would only exacerbate the problem,” he bites out. 

“The United States needs to understand that it’s not the only country in the world and that it can’t just do whatever it wants without consulting anyone else!” 

“France needs to know that just because not everything is communicated directly to it, that doesn't equate to a personal attack! Maybe if it stopped being so self-centered for once, it would see that working with everyone else is more conducive!” 

“Delegates!” 

Ben and Devi both swivel, to see the man at the head of the table gripping the gavel. “Calm yourselves!” 

Devi draws in a deep breath, raising herself up. “I apologize for my conduct,” she says, addressing the chair. 

“As do I,” Ben says. 

Devi bites her tongue to stop herself from saying something mean and probably banned at Model UN. 

“We’re getting a bit off topic. Can we please bring this back to how we are going to approach this epidemic in West Africa?” 

“I have an alternate solution to propose,” Ben says, sitting back down. 

The guy turns to Devi. “France, do you yield to the United States?” 

Well, she knows her answer to that.

She stares Ben right in the eyes, unflinching, even with all eyes in the room on them. 

By the way his jaw clenches almost imperceptibly, she knows he knows what she’s about to say, before she even says it. 

“I yield to the chair.” 

It garners much of the same reaction it had when she was in sophomore year, gasps and sounds of shock all around her, but she doesn’t care about anyone else’s reaction. Her eyes are on him. 

The set of his jaw shows that he’s angry, but his eyes are dark, pupils wide. They’re the same color as his tie, which is dark blue against his shirt. He  _ likes _ this. 

Devi smirks.  _ Game, set, match.  _

* * *

Devi’s sitting on Ben’s bed waiting for him to enter the room, and the tension is almost palpable. 

It makes her tongue dry in her mouth, her stomach swirl. The look he’d give her as she smirked at him made her want to press her thighs together and drag him into a room with her, to touch him and have him touch her and to lose herself in him. 

(it’s becoming shockingly easy for her to do so. when she’s with ben, nothing else in the world seems to matter except the two of them, nothing other than his eyes (viciously, heart-stoppingly azure) and the way he smiles (like the sun breaking out from behind the clouds) and the perfect way he touches her and makes her feel. there’s more to him than just their sex and—)

She rubs her head with her hand. Fuck, she’s literally shaking, waiting for him. She knows he had wanted to win the Best Delegate Gavel at this tournament, and yet, there’s—it’s his last year, and she’d effectively stolen that out from him, swept his chance at victory out from under his feet. 

A thrill runs down her spine when she thinks of how he’s going to react to that. Ben’s competitive, as much as she is, and losing isn’t something he likes. At  _ all. _

The door unlocks and Devi nearly jumps out of her skin, lost in her thoughts. Ben enters the room, his tie slightly askew and jacket over his arm. 

“Hi,” she says, smiling at him. 

Ben shakes his head. “Hey, Devi.” 

He drops his key on the bedside dresser and tosses his jacket into the chair in the corner of the room. He won’t even look at her as he toes off his shoes and loosens his tie. 

“Are you really that depressed about losing?” she says, raising an eyebrow. “You won’t even look at me.” 

Ben sighs, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hands. “Yeah, whatever, David.” 

She clenches her teeth. “Come on, Ben, I know you don’t like to lose, but I thought you were a better sport than that.” 

“Than what?” 

“Than—than this!” she says, flailing her arms as him. “You won’t react and you’re ridiculously pissed that I did better than you today, which is insane, because I’m not the one who started our fight!” 

“I didn’t start it either!” he says. Devi feels her heartbeat quicken as some of the fire in Ben’s eyes returns, like a bluebell flame being lit. 

“Really, Ben? You’re well aware I was the one who proposed cutting the United States out of the deal, and who was the one who turned it into a screaming match in front of the entire delegation? Because it certainly wasn’t me!” 

(they should probably talk about this, talk about him applying to princeton and violating the rules and them fighting in the middle of model un, again, but right now she doesn’t want to think about any of that, wants to forget and feel his teeth against her neck, his hands bruising her hips. talking was never their strong suit, anyways)

Ben glares at her. “Well, at least my only strategy isn’t to induce a world war every time we come to these things!” 

She rolls her eyes. “Oh, please. My strategies were more nuanced than that, and you know it. You just can’t handle that I’m going to win the Best Delegate Gavel this year.” 

He heaves a breath, and at his side, his hands shake, as if he’s restraining himself, restraining himself from touching her. 

She wants to break his control. 

“Just face it, Ben. You can’t handle that even without zero prep, and coming in a few times a year, I’m better at Model UN than you are. Might as well start realizing who’s smarter now.” 

Devi wants to say she can  _ see _ the moment when Ben’s control snaps, but the truth is, she can’t, she’s too caught up in her own emotional high, her own raging desire. Fuck, she wants him, and she wants him in a vicious sort of way that scares her a little bit. 

She blinks, and he’s got her pinned against the wall, wrists above her head. “What did you say?” The tone of his voice is  _ dangerously _ calm, and Devi wants him so bad her head is  _ spinning _ with it. 

“I said, it’s time for you to realize I’m the smarter one.” 

He says nothing, but steps closer, pressing her more harshly into the wall with his body. It’s almost painful, how close he is, but he’s still not closer. She thinks if she opened him up and crawled inside of him, to the center of his heart she still wouldn’t be close enough. She wonders when she will feel like she’s close enough to him. 

Ben’s gaze on her is  _ heavy, _ dark, and there is promise behind his eyes, behind the stained blue window pane that hides his soul. She doesn’t want to think about the thrill it sends down her spin but fuck, she can’t breathe. 

He has her pinned against the wall, and Devi  _ never _ thought she would be into this but god, she wants him more than she’s ever wanted anyone else in her life. 

“You fucked me over today,” he says. It’s a statement of fact, and his gaze roves over her. 

Devi smirks at him. She likes this, damn, what is  _ wrong _ with her? “I did.” 

Ben’s gaze is icy cold, and yet, something darker smolders behind it, something that begs to be let out. He leans forward and his lips brush the shell of her ear, causing her to shiver. “Now I’m going to fuck you.” 

Devi chokes on her own breath, pushing her body into his. She needs,  _ needs _ to touch him, to feel him, but he’s shockingly strong and she can’t move her hands from where he’s got them pinned against the wall. “What?”

“I’m going to fuck you,” he says. His teeth snag on her earlobe and he tugs, and she gasps, bucking against him, hips snapping into his. “I’m going to touch you,” he says, snaking his hand down her body, slipping into her skirt and brushing against her clit, “and then I’m going to fuck you, and you’re going to sit and take it.” 

“What—what do you mean?” 

“I’m going to tie you up, and then I’m going to make you fall apart as many times as  _ I _ want. I think I deserve it, considering you screwed me over in front of  _ everyone, _ don’t you think?” He pulls back and arches an eyebrow at her and whatever feeble words she has dries on her tongue. “I’m going to touch you, and you’re not touching me the whole time.” 

She whines, breathless. “But what if I want to?” 

“Who says it’s about what you want?” 

Devi juts her chin out. “You won’t be able to do that, Ben,” she smirks. “You like me touching you.” 

He nods. “That’s true. I like making you fall apart more.” 

Devi swallows dryly as he lets go of her hands, smooths his hands down her ribcage. “Told you. You want me to touch you.” 

“No,” he says simply. “I want to take off all of your clothes, and then I want to touch you.” 

She loses all ability to speak right there and there, and she can’t even do anything but gape at him as he slips off her blouse. His fingers drag down her arms, and fuck, she swears he’s doing everything he can so she’ll spontaneously combust. 

When his hands curl at her hip bones and push her skirt down, she heaves a breath at him. 

Throughout all of this, undressing her, slowly, letting the fire work through her body, he never takes his eyes off of hers. They turn from the color of the Caribbean to the Atlantic, darkening every moment he continues to look at her, into her soul.

“Ben,” she says, softly. It’s the first sound she’s made in minutes, and even that feels like it’s taken too much effort. She can scarcely move, for fear that she’ll crumple to the ground. It’s—it’s too much, the way he’s looking at her, but fuck, fuck, she  _ can’t. _

“Devi,” he says back. 

For a second, his gaze softens, and he runs the back of his hand along the curve of her cheek. The silent question is swimming in his eyes, and she almost chokes over her need to say  _ yes _ as soon as possible. 

“Please.” 

Ben’s entire demeanor changes then. He smirks, tugging at the tie around his neck. “I don’t know, Devi. You’re making a lot of claims, saying that you’re smarter than me.”

He pulls her close to him, and walks towards the bed. She follows, legs shaking, she wants him so badly. “I think such controversial claims should be backed up with evidence, shouldn’t they?” 

“Wh—what?” she stammers. 

He presses her gently into the bed, and she leans back. “Well,” he says, “I am very smart. Currently, in fact, I think I hold the higher GPA. So, if you want to say you’re smarter than me, I think you should be able to prove it.” 

“Ho—how?”

“I’ll figure it out,” he smirks. “Right now, it’s my turn to touch you.” 

Devi watches him with wide eyes as he drags the tie up her skin, gently wrapping it around her wrists and to the bed frame. “Devi,” he murmurs, drawing her attention back to him, “if you feel even a  _ second _ of discomfort, you tell me, ok?” 

She’s so incredibly turned on it’s hard for her to see straight, but she nods. “Oh—okay,” she gasps. 

Ben tightens the tie around her wrists gently, leaning down and dragging his fingertips down the curve of her face. “Are you ok?” he asks. His thumb smoothes over the curve of her bottom lip, and when she looks into his eyes, there’s nothing but care, affection, and she feels her nerves quell. Looking into the sky of his eyes always does that for her. 

She nods, not trusting herself to speak.

His eyes light up, and he grins. “Perfect.” 

He moves off of her then, and she whines, wanting his body pressed against hers. He doesn’t go far, just taking the time to undress. Devi watches him shamelessly, aching to touch him, aching for him, but she can’t move her hands. She’s securely tied, and while she needs to touch him, part of her is incredibly intrigued at the thought of having to give up control. 

“Ben,” she groans, like a petulant little child. 

He laughs. “I’m here, Devi.” 

He drags his fingers down her body, and even that makes her arch up into him. She wants him,  _ all _ of him, not these light, fainting touches he’s giving her. 

When he finally leans forward, her heart stops and she tilts her head up for a kiss, but he bypasses her face entirely, pressing a kiss to the corner of her scalloped bra. He presses kisses down the edge of her bra, all the way to the center of her cleavage, and then lightly bites, tugging at the center of the fabric. 

The air is thick, so thick she thinks she can’t breathe. His skin is so close, and she tugs against the bindings, aching to run her hands over the smooth skin of his back, to feel the smooth shift of muscle, like the current under the water, below his skin. 

“Ben,” she groans. “Stop going so slow.”

He moves further down, dragging his lips across her skin as he does so. “I have time, Devi. For the first time, I have all the time in the world, and I’m going to take every second of it.” 

His hands curl around her panties and push them down her legs, and suddenly she’s wearing only her bra, heaving in the bed. “You deserve to be worshipped,” he whispers, thumb pressing into her hip. “You deserve to be savored.” 

“Oh,  _ god,” _ she groans. 

“I’m going to take you apart piece by piece, and then I’m going to put you back together, Devi.” 

She tugs at her bindings even harder then, delirious with the desire to touch him, to grab his hands and put them where he promises to  _ now. _ “God, I can’t—I can’t—” 

“You can,” he murmurs, tongue flicking out and dragging over the curve of her bra. He bites her breast and she knees, arching into his touch. “You can take it, Devi.” 

Ben moves down her body and presses his lips to the inside of her ankle, soft as a butterfly’s kiss. It’s so unexpected and reassuring she gasps, blood temperature skyrocketing. His tongue flicks out and drags a path from her ankle bone slowly, slowly, up her thigh, and on her other leg, his thumb mirrors the same path, dragging his nail against her skin ever so lightly. 

When he finally reaches her thighs, he presses a hot, open mouthed kiss to the curve of her right thigh. “Not—not going to leave a mark?” she gasps. 

She can feel his smirk against her thigh. “Plenty of time for that later.” 

Then, unexpectedly, without warning, he slides a finger into her, so ready for him. 

Her reaction is cataclysmic. She arches up off the bed, gasping. “Calm down,” he murmurs, hand reaching up and pressing her hips into his bed. He easily slips another finger into her, and taps against her walls, finding the spot inside of her that he  _ knows _ drives her insane. 

She clutches at her bindings, gasping his name, and from the way he grins, she can tell he likes it. Fuck, it’s too much and not enough all at once, colors flashing behind her eyes, senses heightened, and yet, he’s not made her lose control. 

Ben knows her body so well he knows exactly how to make her break apart, exactly how to take her apart, piece by piece, brick by brick, and if Devi knows anything from how he’s made her felt in the few months they’ve been together, he’s just getting started. 

He leans down and nips at her thigh, at the juncture of her pelvis and her legs, and fuck, he’s so close to where she wants him to be, but he’s not  _ there, _ and she thinks she might go mad. 

Ben twists his fingers in her gently, sending shockwaves radiating through her body, and she loses all ability to breathe. “Almost,” he murmurs. “Not quite.” 

“What—not quite what?” she manages to choke out. 

“You’re not quite close enough,” he says, before he leans down and flicks his tongue, ever so gently, over her clit. 

_ “Oh,” _ she whines, high pitched. Her legs tighten around his back, and her nails scrape against the tie as she looks for something to hold on before she shatters underneath him. 

He works her gently, fingers twisting inside of her, and slowly guiding her to the peak, ever so gradually and carefully, and she feels it wash over her, the pleasure, building in slow waves. It picks up then, the speed of his fingers in her, and he flicks his tongue against her core a little faster, and the pressure builds up higher in her as well. 

Ben drags his tongue over her folds, tracing them, and Devi’s eyes roll back in her head as she gets there, closer and closer, almost at her peak. His other hand slides up and hitches her leg over his back, calf brushing the muscles there, and fuck, it feels too good. Her lungs burn, forgetting to breathe, and she’s thrusting her hips so that he’ll do  _ something, _ pick up the speed, but he stays steady, increasing slowly and surely, and it’s almost worse than bringing her to the peak quickly because every moment is the most glorious torture, and she’s about to explode.

She can’t—she gasps as it crescendos in her, thighs shaking. He knows, knows exactly how to bring her to the edge, and it’s perfect. 

Devi groans, and she’s—she’s so close she can feel it, her walls fluttering around around his fingers, her body tightening under his, she’s so close she can taste it on her tongue, see her release, feel it starting to bubble and boil in her veins. 

He backs off then though, and no—no she can’t because she’s right there, she just needs him to pick up the speed again and she’ll tumble over the edge, surrender herself to the oblivion and ecstasy. 

“Why?” she chokes, although she can’t even get the word out, so all that it sounds like is a breathless plea, which is what it is. “Why did you stop?” 

“I asked you a question,” he murmurs, tapping his fingers against her walls. Devi shamelessly thrusts her hips into his hands, searching for release, but he slows down, backs off. “Answer it.” 

“Are—are you fucking kidding me?” she manages to bite out. “You—you stopped because you wanted me to answer a question?” 

Ben smirks. “You were the one who said you were smarter than me. Come on, Devi. you should be able to answer my question. I’ll let you come if you do. It’s an easy one.” 

She glares down at him, far too smug, but then his thumb flicks over her clit in exactly the right way and she bows off the bed. Ok, perhaps he has a reason for being smug. “What—what was the question?” she asks, deciding to play along with his game. 

Ben kisses her stomach, trailing up until he’s dragging his teeth along the underside of her bra. He presses butterfly kisses there, whispering into her skin as he does so, “Who was the first emperor of Rome?” 

“That’s—that’s easier than I thought it would be,” she gasps. 

“Yeah, I figured.” 

“Augustus, obviously. Octavian, if you want both names.” 

She can feel his smile press into her stomach. “Of course.” Then, blissfully,  _ finally, _ his fingers pick up speed, and then she’s arching towards her release faster than she thought possible.

Just before she breaks, though, he moves up her body and covers her mouth with his, kissing her as she breaks apart around him.

She wants to pull him to her so badly but she physically can’t, so she just kisses him back as hard as she can, desperate for him to press into her. His hand sweeps down her hip and even as she shatters, she can feel the pounding of his heart against her own. The press of his lips against hers centers her, like it always does, and makes her moan into his mouth. 

His tongue sweeps into her mouth and dances with her own, and she kisses him back as much as she can while she’s still shaking, her high circulating through her blood. 

Ben kisses her and gently works her through her orgasm, letting her come back down from her high, the pleasure ebbing over her like the steady flow of the ocean tide. 

He pulls away from her and lets her relax into him, body melting into the sheets from the sheer euphoria. 

“That was one,” he says, gently pulling his fingers out of her.

“One,” she breathes, opening her eyes to look at him. “You’re keeping track?” 

In the dimness of the room, his eyes glow, like beacons of light, guiding her back to him. 

He smirks at her. “I told you I was going to make you come as many times as I wanted. Once isn’t enough. Not nearly.” 

“How—how many times do you want?” 

Ben grins wolfishly at her. “That’s for me to know and for you to find out.” 

Devi gapes at him. “Ben! Ben, I can’t—” 

Whatever she’s going to say is broken off when Ben sucks at the side of her breast, causing her to let out a sharp moan. His hands trail over her body, ever so slowly. He’s slow about touching her—and the worst part is how it drives her crazy. The faint brush of fingers on the side of her thigh or the graze of his teeth against the slope of her hip isn’t nearly enough to keep her satisfied, and he knows it. He knows it because he knows her—knows her body and her mind and how she reacts, so he takes his time. 

He slides down her body and places hot, open-mouthed kisses to every single inch of spare skin he can get, sucking harder at some parts, biting down at other points, and yet it’s still not enough. It’ll never be enough, not until he gives her what she craves so badly. 

Ben finally shrugs her legs over his shoulders, thumbs brushing against the underside of her thighs, and Devi clutches at the tie, knowing what’s coming, and waiting. 

Somehow, he always manages to surprise her, because when he leans forward and presses a kiss to her clit she jumps and squeaks in surprise. 

Ben laughs against her before letting his tongue smooth over her, sending hot pleasure coiling into her body. 

With every pass of his tongue over her, the pleasure coiling in her stomach tightens, squeezing the air out of her lungs. “Oh, oh god,” she gasps. 

“Does that feel good?” he asks, gently stroking the inside of her thigh. 

“Oh, Ben,” she says. When did she lose the ability to say anything but his name, to only think in relation to him, his hands and mouth on her body?

She’s entirely at the mercy of his fingers and his mouth, and the thought thrills her. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he smirks, and she manages to move her leg just the slightest to smack him in the head. 

“Just fucking hurry up,” she groans.

Instead of doing like she asked (and really, she should have seen this coming) he backs off, sliding further down her body and proceeding to suck at the skin on the side of her knee. 

“Oh— _ Oh!” _ she says. “Wait,” she groans. 

He doesn’t listen to her, teeth sinking into the inside of her thigh when her hips jerk up. Her mind fries, and she can’t think, reduced to only pure sensation. Everything about him is all encompassing, and yet, she’s so,  _ so _ close. 

She wants so badly to dig her hands into his hair, and tugs again uselessly at the bindings. “Ben,  _ please.” _ Devi doesn’t usually beg, but she’s been teased for too long, too much waiting. She’s desperate, and besides, this will never leave their room, and so, she’s ok with it. If only for this once. 

Ben takes pity on her and sucks her clit into his mouth, rolling it between his teeth before he drags his tongue over every inch of her. 

When his tongue finally enters her she pulls so hard on the tie she thinks it might leave burns around her wrists, and she couldn’t care less about that. 

She writhes under him, waiting, waiting, hoping he will take pity on her and fling her off the edge. 

She doesn’t have to wait long. Ben hums against her and she gasps, and then his tongue swirls against her in the most  _ perfect _ way and she explodes underneath him. She reacts like a firecracker, gasping, a cacophony of sound that is almost violent, and the half gasp, half moan that tears itself from her throat is embarrassing, or it would be, if she cared. 

Her hands pull against the bindings so tight she  _ knows _ they’ll leave marks now, and she’s dizzy with pleasure, lungs burning, sucking in air as quickly as she can. The sharp bliss fades away before being replaced with something softer, something that settles into her bones and wraps itself around her, and she sighs in contentment. 

She opens her eyes to see Ben looking at her, his pupils blown wide. She can barely see the ring of blue around them, the slightest sliver of sky against a black hole. “Fuck, I love watching you when you do that,” he breathes. 

His eyes trace over every inch of skin he can see, her bra still on her body, and when she looks down at herself, she can already see her body is littered with red marks that will become purple bruises later. By the way Ben’s gaze lingers on them, she can tell he finds them attractive, and a rush of desire to claim  _ him, _ to mark  _ him _ as her own surges through her. 

“Kiss me,” she breathes. 

He can never refuse her, not truly, and so he reaches up and slides his hand around the back of her as his lips come crashing down on hers. 

She slants her mouth and sweeps her tongue into his mouth, and kisses him back as hard as she can, determined to leave him with swollen lips and a memory of who she is. Because he’s marked her as his, a thousand times over, but Devi wants everyone else to know that he is  _ hers, _ that even though she cannot touch him right now, she is the only one who gets too. 

Ben moans into the kiss, hand curling around her waist to pull her closer to him, clearly surprised at the amount of passion she’s pouring into it, but not complaining, if the way he kisses her back just as hard is any indication. 

This, this is what she  _ needs, _ not anything else. Just his hand on her hip and his mouth against hers. 

Devi drags her lips away from him and presses kisses down the line of his jaw, following the tight, prominent muscle in his neck down to his collarbone with her lips. When she reaches it, she sucks  _ hard _ against his skin. Ben groans into her hair and pulls her impossibly close, and she bites down against his collarbone in shock. Her tongue flicks out to sooth the wounded spot, but she feels satisfied that she’s left a significant mark.

“What was that for?” he gasps. 

Devi smirks, even if the way the blood is rushing hazily through her body makes her want to loosen up, to soften and lean into his touch and never leave. “You gave me plenty of souvenirs. I wanted to return the favor.” 

He stares at her in shock before huffing a breath and smiling at her, hand threading through her hair to tip her head up so he can kiss her firmly again. 

(kissing has become more and more frequent, before, during, and after they hookup, and devi wants to say she’s not becoming increasingly addicted to the feeling of his lips on hers, but that would be a lie. it’s one of her favorite things to do, press her lips against ben’s and breathe him in)

Ben pulls away then, moving off the bed to grab a condom before he’s settling him back on top of her, touch impossibly caring as he drags his fingers up and down the length of her thigh. “Do you want this?” he asks, voice so soft she has to strain to hear it. 

(and this is what she love—appreciates about him, that for all he promises that it’s what he wants, about how much he wants her, he always, always puts her first, gives her whatever she wants, without question)

Devi blinks up at him, thinking about it for a moment. Does—does she want this? 

He always asks, even if her answer has never changed. 

“Yes.” 

He leans down and kisses her again, soft, like he can’t go more than a moment without kissing her and she ignores what it may mean that she’s feeling the same way. 

(it’ll get better, this web of emotions. it’ll go away. she just needs a bit of time)

When he finally pushes into her she gasps, arching up, wincing just the slightest bit. He stops, instantly, leaning down and looking at her. “Are you ok?” 

Concern bleeds into his voice, and she breathes, taking a second to compose herself. It’s mostly because he feels so good, the weight of him pressing into her. She likes him here, likes them here. 

“I’m—I’m ok,” she breathes, leg dragging up over his. “I just—I need you to move.” 

“Are you sure?”

“Ben,” she groans. “Move.” 

He listens to her without a question, pulling out and thrusting shallowly back into her, and she loses herself. 

She fights for her eyes to stay open, hungrily drinking him in as he drinks in her body, cataloguing every inch of her response—the rise and fall of her chest, the way her mouth pants, her lips wet from her running her tongue over them so many times, her fingers tightening around the bindings. 

When he wraps one of her legs around his waist and pushes the other one up higher, she moans, and he loses control for a moment, sinking into her a little deeper and faster than before, and she nearly combusts right then and there. 

“Faster,” she begs. “Faster, Ben, please.” 

His fingers grip her closer in response, and then he snaps his hips against hers, hard, fast, a little rougher than normal, and it’s the end of it for her. 

It builds slowly at first, like a tsunami wave, and then slams into her with unprecedented speed, knocking her back and dragging her down to the depths of the ocean. She focuses on his eyes, but it’s too much for her and they slip shut, squeezing tightly as her orgasm overwhelms her. 

She cries his name into his skin, soft, wanting. “Ben!” 

When she comes back to earth she’s just a little disoriented, still fluttering around him, and then he breaks in her, panting into her neck. 

His release draws out her own, and she buries her face into his neck, tasting the sweat on his skin as she breathes helplessly into it. “Oh, god,” she moans. 

He laughs, not lifting his face from her neck. “I’m glad you feel that way.” 

Her eyes flutter open, her brain still feeling like complete and utter liquid. When he pulls back and looks at her there is nothing but softness and tender care in them, the dark, bottle blue turning a bit lighter, into a shade like the sky. 

She feels sluggish as she blinks at him, processing the gentle way he runs a hand down her face, smooth, careful. “You good?” 

She nods slowly. “I—I think you made your point,” she mumbles out, head falling back against the pillow in exhaustion. 

He reaches up and unties the restraints around her wrists, rubbing at them soothingly as he gently guides her arms down to the bed, her muscles sighing in relief.

Devi taps his waist, pulling his attention back to her. “What?” 

“I—kind of need you to get off of me,” she breathes. 

Ben laughs. “Yeah, yeah of course.” 

Devi grabs his shirt and tugs it on as she heads to the bathroom, taking a look at herself in the mirror once she’s done taking care of business. Her hair is a mess, lips slightly swollen from his kisses. She rubs her thumb over her cheekbone, exactly where he would. 

She’s right. When she closes her eyes, concentrates hard enough, she can still feel his hands on her, the whisper of his breath against her skin. He lingers on her, the way the smell of rain lingers after a storm. 

Devi pulls herself out of her daydream and exits the bathroom. Ben is sitting under the covers, thumb flicking over his phone screen. “You’re leaving?” he asks, not even looking up. 

She bites her lip, and then crawls onto the bed, swimming in the fabric of his shirt. “Do you want me to?” 

He looks up at that, eyes darting over her. They darken as he takes her in, burning, like a blue star. The collar of his shirt dips, and he fixates on her neck, at the red mark stark against her skin on the curve of her shoulder. Ben swallows. “What would you do if I said no?” 

(they’re entering dangerous territory here, again, really. it’s a dance they are doomed to repeat, an orbit they keep circling) 

She can never lie to him, never hide anything from him, not really, when he’s looking at her like that. His eyes are her north stars  _ and _ her ocean to navigate, all at the same time, a staggering dichotomy of opposites that makes her head spin. 

Ben is a study in contradictory terms, someone who makes her want to run for cover and bury herself in him, someone who she desperately wants to hide things from, but can’t. 

“I don’t know,” she whispers. 

He nods, setting his phone aside. Reaching up, he cups her jaw, scanning her face. “Only if you want to.” 

She does. She wants to, so bad. Devi licks her lips, looks at him. His hair is tousled, shoulders marked by her teeth and nails, hands gentle where they touch her. 

“Ok,” she agrees, not sure what exactly she’s agreeing to.

* * *

Ben wakes up before Devi, who’s lying on her front, arms wrapped around her pillow like a stuffed animal. It makes him smile, the way she sleeps, hair flung out in every direction. She’s a tornado, even when she’s quiet. It’s the first time he’s ever woken up next to her, and he wants so badly to let her sleep and admire the smooth dip of her nose, the gentle curve of her lips. 

(he never gets to do this, gets to drink her in, the quiet of this moment. she has never stayed long enough, he has never lingered. they have broken many, many rules, and it scares him when he thinks about how all he wants to do with her is break a few more) 

But he wants to see her too, and when he glances at the clock he grins when they see they have a good amount of time before they need to be ready for their session today. 

He leans down and tugs the sheet down to her waist, fingers trailing down her back gently. When he brushes his lips against the small of her back, she stirs, and he makes careful note of the way she reacts to each type of kiss. 

He lets his teeth graze gently against her spine as he follows the path the dip of her back makes up to her neck, kissing her gently, and by the time he’s made it there her eyes are fluttering open. 

“Morning,” he whispers, leaning down and pressing a kiss to the edge of her jaw.

She mumbles it back, burying her face back into her pillow. He slides his hands down her back, leaning down and dragging his lips down and over her shoulder blades, soft, barely there, like the kiss of a butterfly’s wing. 

“Ben,” she groans. “What time is it?” 

“7:30,” he whispers, moving up her neck to across her jaw. 

“It’s too early,” she complains. Her arms tighten around the pillow, and a brown eye peeks out at him. “I don’t wanna get up.” 

“Well, David,” he says, hands smoothing over her shoulders and pressing into them, “we do have the rest of the Security Council today.” 

Devi closes her eyes. “Fuck,” she breathes. “Everyone’s going to think we’re insane.” 

“We? I think that’s just you, David.” 

“Fuck off,” she mutters.

Ben laughs. “Come on, David. We have to get ready.” 

At this, she finally sits up, clutching the sheets to her chest. She raises an eyebrow. “We?”

He grins. “Hotel shower sex is better than just hotel sex, or so I’ve heard.” 

Devi laughs. “God, you’re insatiable.” 

He reaches out and pulls her closer, into his lap. She wraps her legs around him, arms going around his neck. “Getting tired of me, David?” 

“Not a chance, Gross. I’m  _ more _ than capable of keeping up with you.” 

“Maybe you should prove it,” he mumbles, lifting his face up to kiss her. He stops, when he feels her hand press against his mouth. 

“I’m  _ not _ kissing you without you brushing your teeth first, you troll.” 

“If I didn’t literally actually remember us hooking up last night, I would definitely think you hated me.” 

She winks. “What makes you think I don’t?” 

Ben narrows his eyes at her. “Last night.” 

“Please, Gross. Haven’t you ever watched  _ When Harry Met Sally? _ It’s easy for a woman to fake it.” 

“I don’t really think you faked it. Three times.” 

Devi smirks, pushing herself off his lap and off the bed. “You’ll never know, will you?” 

He bolts after her, pulling her into him. “I think I do.” 

She hums, tilting her head, before pushing him off of her. “Come on, Ben. We have to get ready.” 

Ben reaches a hand out and pulls her back into him, dragging a finger down her collarbone. “We have time,” he murmurs. 

She sighs, melting into his touch. “Gross, we can’t waste our time. Plus, I have to get back to my room. My roommates are going to be wondering where I’ve been.”

“Just lie,” he whispers, dragging his tongue down the muscle of her neck. 

He spins them around and pushes her onto the table, jostling it slightly. He kisses her shoulder, pressing kisses down her body when he feels her tugging at his hair. “Ben,” she pants. “Ben.” 

“What?” he groans, kissing a mole he finds just underneath the dip of her collarbone. 

“The coffee machine.” 

_ What? _ “Uh, I’m kind of hoping you don’t want coffee right now,” he mutters, dragging his tongue down the center of her chest. 

“Ben!” 

He finally stops, looking up at her. “What, Devi?”

She raises an eyebrow and looks down at the floor. 

He follows her gaze, and feels his eyes widen when he notices the coffee machine smashed to little pieces. “Oh shit. How the fuck did that happen?” 

“Excuse me!” She whacks him in the chest with her hand. “You did that?” 

“I did?” 

“Yes!” 

“When I—” 

“Yup.” 

“Oh. Damn.” 

“Oh  _ damn? _ Dude, you broke a coffee machine.” 

“I can’t believe you care more about the coffee machine.” 

“Jesus fucking Christ, Ben, you’re unbelievable.”

He smirks, shrugging his shoulders. “I’ll pay for it later.” 

“You’re a rich jackass, you know that?” 

“You like it.” 

She rolls her eyes, but gasps when he leans down and kisses the skin between her breasts, working his way down her body. “Ben, we—we have to get ready,” she bites out. 

“Fine,” he groans. 

He tugs her into the shower and she shrieks when the spray washes over her, piercing cold. “Are you fucking serious?” she shouts, squirming to get away from it. 

He laughs. “Ok, I’m not gonna lie, that was the highlight of my entire existence.” 

“Not the multiple orgasms I’ve given you?” 

“Second to this, honestly.” 

Devi sighs, pushing her wet hair out of her face. “God, why did I choose you?” 

Ben smirks, taking the initiative. He pushes her underneath the shower spray, dragging his hands down her body. “I can show you.” 

Her pupils dilate, tongue licking away the water on her lips. “Really?” she breathes. 

He pushes her further back, crowding her against the cold shower wall. “Unless, of course, you would be faking it,” he murmurs, slipping two fingers inside of her. 

Devi’s hands dig into his biceps, and she smirks even as her eyes flutter shut. “If you want that, get better.” 

“According to you, I’m plenty good enough,” he quips, picking up the pace. He shifts his hand and flicks his thumb over her clit, building her up with shocking speed.

She breaks apart easy, coming with a gasp, lashes fluttering. He barely resists the urge to kiss her, and instead bites down on her earlobe as she falls apart around his hands. “I think that was a real one,” he mumbles, feeling rather good about himself.

“I hate your guts,” she mutters, no malice behind it. 

“Sure you do.” 

Devi breathes. “Well,” she says, opening her eyes. “That was good.” 

“I’m not done.” 

She raises an eyebrow. “You want to fuck. In the shower? How would that even work?” 

“Um.”

“I’m not fucking you in the shower if you don’t have a plan, Gross. The last thing I need is to die here. Can you  _ imagine _ how embarrassing that would be?” 

“What, dying naked?” 

“No, having the world know I was sleeping with you.” she shudders, eyes sparkling with mirth. “My mother would resurrect me just to kill me again.” 

“She’s terrifying.” 

“We’re definitely putting a moratorium on talking about my mother before we’re about to have sex. This is like, the second time it’s happened.” 

“Two times too many?” 

“Shut up, please.” 

He glances around them. “I think I could make this work.” 

She eyes him. “You sure?” 

He reaches out and takes her hand, wrapping it around the bar in the concave space in the shower. “Hold onto this,” he commands, “so you don’t fall.” 

Her eyes rove over his face. “Ok.” 

Ben leans down and presses a swift kiss to her cheek. “Give me a moment,” he whispers. 

Thankfully, his things are just outside the shower, and it barely takes him a second to grab a condom before he’s back underneath the warm shower spray. 

He pushes her against the wall tighter, hooking her leg around his waist. He pushes up into her, wrapping a hand around the same bar she’s using. “You’re good?” 

She moans, nodding. “Ben,” she whimpers. Her nails dig into his arm, clutching him like he’s the only thing in the world. 

He loves it when she gets like this, holding onto him as he brings her to the edge, over and over again, as she falls apart because of him. He’s not afraid to admit he’s a little, well, protective of the things in his life, the things that matter to him, and she’s one of those things. 

(perhaps if he stops for a moment, he might be able to think about it for a bit longer and question how and why she’s one of those things, why she makes him feel this way, why he wants her to never forget, to remember how he makes her feel, but right now she feels so good, and she’s gasping his name into the air and he can’t think about anything else)

He pushes into her slowly, then, hand digging hard into her thigh, where he’s holding it. Her nails tight on his arm. “Ow,” he winces. 

“Get over it, Gross,” she moans, head falling back against the shower wall. 

Her neck is covered in water droplets, and he can’t resist, so he leans in and flicks his tongue across it, dragging it over her skin. 

She pants when he hitches her leg up higher, losing control and driving into her deeper. “Fuck,” he mutters, nipping at the curve of her neck. 

Her hand comes up and runs through his hair. “Cl—close,” she stammers out. 

He’s going to get her there, as always. 

Ben pulls his hand from her hip, sliding it across her body, and taps against her clit. “Devi,” he whispers. “Devi.” 

Devi comes, head arching back, hitting against the shower wall almost painfully. Her eyes slip shut, mouth parting, and it’s really ridiculously hot, her wet and wanting, crying out his name. Even if no one else can hear them, even if he’s the only one here, it’s still good, still amazing to hear her. 

He buries his face in her neck as he follows her, vision blackening for a quick second, hand tightening so hard on her hip she gasps in pain. He bites down on the skin of her shoulder and falls apart, the only sound the water hitting the shower floor and her gasps. 

When he finally works up the energy to remove himself from her, lifting his face away from her shoulder, she blinks, looking him in the eyes. 

“Well,” she says, a smirk coiling over her lips, “I guess you can check that off your bucket list.” 

Ben grins, running a hand down her hair as he gently pushes her leg back down to the floor. “Who said it was on my bucket list in the first place?” 

“Please. This is like, a lowkey fantasy of all guys.” 

He pushes out of her and quickly ducks out of the shower, getting rid of the condom before heading back under the warm shower spray. Her back is to him when he slips back in, and he wraps his arms around her waist, pulling her back against him. 

She sighs when he ducks his head and presses a kiss to her cheek, moving down to mouth at her neck lazily. 

“You do realize we can’t spend the whole day here in the shower, right?” she murmurs. 

“Oh, I know. I need to make up for yesterday to win that Best Delegate Gavel.” 

“Don’t you already have one?” 

“Two is always better than one, David.” 

“Really? Two is always better than one? Two serial killers are better than one? Two robbers are better than one? Two earthquakes are better than one?” 

“Ok, ok, I get the point,” he laughs. 

He steps back the slightest bit and turns her around so she looks up at him, smiling. He strokes her hair, looking at her. 

“Can I wash your hair?” he blurts out. 

Her brows furrow. “Uh, what?” 

He sighs, leaning forward and dropping his forehead on her shoulder. He can feel her chuckle as she runs her hand through his hair. “Forget it.” 

“No, no,” she says. The smile is apparent in her voice. “That—uh—that would be nice.” 

He lifts his head up. “Really?” 

She shrugs. “Whatever weird things you wanna do, Gross. Just know I’m going to lord it over you for the rest of forever.” 

He rolls his eyes, wrapping his arms around her waist. “Yeah, I know.” 

* * *

She wins the gavel. 

He wants to be mad at her, he does, but the way she smirks at him as she accepts it is frankly, more endearing than anything else. He winks at her, smiling as she sits back in her seat. 

Back on the bus, he tosses his things into the carry on spaces above their seats before making his way down to sit next to her. 

So, it’s a surprise when Shapiro stops him just before he can sit down. 

“Uh, Ben?” he says quietly. “Can I talk to you about something?” 

“Uh, sure, Mr. Shapiro.” His eyes flicker to Devi, and then back to their teacher. “What’s up?” 

Shapiro frowns. “Can you tell me how the coffee machine in your hotel room broke? I got a call from the hotel staff.” 

Ben’s mouth drops open. Behind their teacher’s back, Devi lets out a tiny little squeak. Shapiro swivels around and looks at Devi. 

“Are you alright, Devi?” 

“I’m—I’m fine,” she stammers out. “I mean, I just think it’s funny that you’re so clumsy on your feet you broke a coffee machine. In a hotel room.” 

She smirks at him, and, while Shapiro’s still focused on Devi, Ben raises an eyebrow. 

“Yeah, Mr. Shapiro. I think I heard some weird noises from Ben’s room last night,” she quips. 

She’s getting back at him, and that makes this so much more fun. 

“I don’t know what Devi’s talking about,” he says easily, leaning back against another seat. “Considering she’s pretty far away from me. Those must have been some noises. You probably heard them from another room.” 

“They were annoying. Kept me up all night.” 

He laughs. “I didn’t know you cared so much, David.” 

“I don’t. I’m just saying, maybe you should turn on the lights when you’re lumbering around your room like a goddamn gorilla so you don’t wake the rest of us up.” 

Shapiro groans, rubbing at his head. “I don’t—I don’t even care how it broke anymore. God, I thought you two being friends was supposed to  _ stop _ the arguing. I need a joint—I mean, an Advil. I’m gonna go take a nap.” He waves his hands at Ben. “Just pay me back for it at the next meeting. It’s $75.” 

He walks off, and Ben flops into his seat next to her. “So, thanks for that.”

“Just getting you back for Prague,” she comments easily, thumb flicking over her phone.

Ben digs into his backpack and pulls out his AirPods, which he didn’t forget this time. “Want to listen?” 

“As long as you don’t blare some Vivaldi or Paganini in my delicate ears.” 

He hands her one of his AirPods and she slips it in. “What about this?” he asks, tapping his phone screen.

Devi raises an eyebrow as Hozier plays, smirking. “You remembered.” 

“Well, I listened to some of his stuff. I guess your music taste has improved since elementary school. You know, Jonas Brothers CDs aside.” 

“Shut the fuck up. Sucker is a bop and you know it.” 

“Sucker wasn’t even out when we were in elementary school.” 

She breathes, looking up at the sky. “Lord, save me.” 

Ben laughs. “Hey, I can drive you home after we reach the school, by the way.” 

“Seriously?” At his nod, her face brightens. “That would be great. Thank you, so much. Kamala’s over for dinner—her husband’s on a work trip—so this way my mom doesn’t have to leave her at home to come get me.” 

He shrugs. “It’s no problem.” 

She smiles at him and then leans back against her seat, glancing out the window. 

He can’t help but feel that this is the inverse of sophomore year, coming back from a Model UN trip to Davis, sitting side by side instead of across a bus, two hands reaching for one another instead of pushing the other away. 

(he looks down at his phone instead of her, and tries very, very hard not to think about sophomore year, why he hadn’t reached out to her then. it’s a memory he doesn’t let himself indulge in, just like the way the light of the hotel room made her skin glow or the way she’d smiled at his birthday party. those are moments he doesn’t let himself remember, moments he pushes away, especially malibu. they’d been dangling on the edge of a precipice, a turning point, and he had been afraid that reaching out to her would—) 

Ben swallows and ignores that, hitting shuffle on his playlist. When Vivaldi’s Spring starts to play, Devi jerks up in her seat and swears at him, grabbing his phone out of his hand. 

“Fuck you, Gross,” she says, changing the music. 

He just laughs, and lets himself indulge in  _ this _ moment. 

* * *

He’s leaning against his car, waiting for her, when he spots it.

The lanyard is in his bag, crumpled up at the bottom. 

Part of him wants to believe that it’s not likely they could have a near screaming match at each other in the morning, and then hookup late at night, but that’s how they work. He and Devi—he’s never known how to tell her how he feels. 

(that’s part of the reason, he thinks, malibu crashed and burned so spectacularly. everything with them has been misplaced, at the wrong time, too little, too late, too much, too early. they’ve always been able to settle into a rhythm with one another when it comes to everything but their feelings—or, at least, he’s this way. she’s probably just fine with being friends with benefits. why wouldn’t she?

he’s never deluded himself on the situation here. there’s nothing in it for devi besides an orgasm and stress-relief. there’s a truth slowly, surely coming to the surface, something he doesn’t want to—can’t acknowledge right now, something he can’t think about. but, the point of this is, devi’s not here for anything else. somehow, they became friends, through some magic something or other, but that’s it. that’s all she needs. friends) 

Sometimes he doesn’t understand why she chose him for this arrangement. It’s no secret Devi’s beautiful, heart-stoppingly so, and he’s—well, he’s average.

She’d gone out with the most famous kid in SoCal, the hottest kid in SoCal (what, he’s not  _ blind) _ and now she’s with him. Behind closed doors, at least. 

And he’s not—he’s not hurt she wants to keep things secret. He does too, frankly. There’s something intoxicating about sneaking around, hooking up when no one knows they’re together. He knows she’s not embarrassed, just private. He knows that. 

But he can’t wrap his head around it, at times. He’s—he’s not really worthy of her, no matter how inflated his ego gets, he knows that’s the truth. He’s waiting for the day she wakes up and realizes that, drops him as quickly as she can, running away from him, and he can’t even blame her for that when she deserves so much more. 

Ben slams his briefcase shut and stares at the asphalt, refusing to look up. They should  _ definitely _ talk about this, but he also definitely does not want to.

“Hey,” Devi says, jerking him back to reality. 

His head shoots up, “Hey. You ready to go?” 

She nods. “Yeah. Thanks again.” 

He shrugs. “Both of my parents are out of the country right now, so it’s not a big deal. Not like I have anyone at home waiting for me, so.” 

He laughs bitterly, but doesn’t miss the sad look Devi shoots him. It’s not pity, not quite, but it speaks to what she knows. 

“Anyways,” he says, coughing to try and change the subject, “it’s not a big deal. Doesn’t require a lot of brainpower.” 

“You would know,” she says, laughing. She buckles her seatbelt and leans back to smirk at him as he pulls out of the parking lot. “You have what, a brain cell?” 

“More than you.” 

“Your volcano from 3rd grade says differently,” she smirks. 

He glances over at her as they pull up at a stop sign and falters. 

(the sunlight falls over her and in that moment—this is some ridiculous poetic bullshit right here, but forgive him, he can’t help it—she looks like a ray of sun. she glows, smile gracing her lips, skin shining. she looks like an angel, or rather, like a goddess. 

in the back of his brain, he remembers—from fifth grade—that devi’s interesting fact about herself on the first day of school had been that her name meant goddess. right now, looking at her, he cannot fathom how she would have been named anything else)

He glances away from her and steps on the gas, carefully keeping his eyes on the road. “Look, I really thought I was onto something, ok?” 

“I can’t believe that you  _ actually _ tried that,” Devi laughs. 

He shrugs, flicking on his blinker to indicate he’s turning. “I was 8.” 

“And a dumbass.” 

“Hey!” 

She snickers. “I’m sorry, Gross—well, actually, I’m not—but what else would you call someone who tried to make a paper mache volcano with hot glue and Play-Doh?” 

“A dumbass,” he concedes. “Still, I was 8.” 

“Well, I wasn’t a dumbass at 8.” 

“No, you were just ridiculously temperamental.” 

“I was not!” 

“You murdered my snowman because it was “offensive to your eyes” and when our teacher tried to put you in time out you started crying about how I was racist because I gave my snowman black eyes.” 

“Well? Why black eyes,  _ Ben?  _ Why not blue?” 

He laughs, pulling into her neighborhood. “You are  _ literally _ insane.” 

Devi rolls her eyes. “You just don’t have the brain power to understand me.” 

“From what I’ve seen that I  _ do _ understand. I’m pretty sure I’m not missing out on much.” 

She leans over and hits him lightly on the head, grabbing her backpack from the back of his car. “Thanks for the ride home,” she says, biting her lip. 

He smiles. “Yeah, sure.” 

Just then, he spots Devi’s mom, appearing at the passenger side window. She knocks on the window before he can say anything, startling Devi.

“Mom!” She jumps, and fumbles with the button, finally pressing it so it rolls down. 

“Hello, Benjamin,” Nalini smiles. 

Ben gapes at her like an idiot, before he manages to compose himself enough to stammer out a response. “H—hi, Dr. Vishwakumar. How are you?” 

“I’m doing well, thank you for asking.” 

“Mom,” Devi hisses. “What are you doing?” 

Nalini purses her lips and tilts her head. “Well, kanna, you mentioned that Ben was giving you a ride home, and because I wasn’t raised by wolves, I thought I would come out and thank him for helping out.” 

“Uh, it wasn’t a big deal, ma’am,” he says. “I don’t have any other plans, so.” 

Nalini nods. “Well, even if my daughter didn’t say it, thank you.” 

“Ok,” Devi says, smile tight. “Thanks, Ben. I’ll see you at school.” She hops out of the car, clutching the door tightly.

“Devi!” Nalini scolds. “Where are your manners?” She turns to Ben, smiling. “Would you like to join us for dinner? I’d love to know more about how the trip went.” 

Behind her mom, Devi’s eyes widen, and Ben would find it funny if he himself wasn’t currently on the verge of a mental implosion. 

Having dinner. With his friend/fuck buddy/whatever else. And her mom. And her cousin. 

Wow, he’d find this a  _ lot _ funnier if he was on the outside. 

“Uh—” he stammers out. “I mean—” 

“Truly, Ben,” she says, smiling softly. “It’s been too long.” 

Ben’s eyes volley over to Devi. Nalini clearly knows that he doesn’t have any plans for tonight, considering not much has changed from the time he cried in her office over not having a family dinner. He has no actual  _ reason _ to refuse, and considering he’s absolutely  _ terrified _ of Devi’s mom, (a feeling that has only exacerbated with the arrangement) he really has no place to say no. 

“Sure,” he says, hearing himself say the words as if he’s from far away. “I’d love that.” 

Ben turns off the car and hops out, stuffing his keys into his pocket. He’s glad he changed from his suit into jeans and a t-shirt, but his palms are sweaty. 

He comes around the car and almost crashes right into Devi. “Uh, what the fuck are you doing?” she hisses. 

“I don’t know!” he hisses back, flinging his arms up. “She invited me!” 

“You should have turned her down!” 

“You know your mom wouldn’t have accepted that. I couldn’t have been rude. She’s scary, Devi.  _ Scary.” _

“You’re a weakling.” 

“When it comes to your mom, yeah I am.” 

“You’re gonna admit that?” 

He glares at her, stuffing his hands in his pockets as they make their way up the cobblestone path to her house. “You’re just as scared of her, David, so stop pretending. Otherwise you would have said something.”

“Oh, shut up, Ben.” 

“Ben!” 

He whirls around to see Kamala waving at him. “Hello! I haven’t seen you in so long. How are you doing?” 

“I’m—I’m doing well,” he chokes out. God, he needed to get it together,  _ now. _ At this rate, he was being such an idiot they were going to know something was up. 

Well, can he really blame himself? He can’t exactly be like, “hey, I know what your daughter looks like when she’s had an orgasm cause the two of us are sleeping together.” Like, he can’t say that. 

Fuck, he’s going to die at the age of 18 cause he can’t be chill. 

“I’m glad to hear. Excited for college?” 

Devi groans. “Kamala, no one want to talk about college right now. Please, I don’t want to.” 

“No, it’s fine, Devi,” he says, waving their concerns off. He takes off his shoes and follows her into the house a bit further. “I’ve applied to a bunch of schools, but I’m hoping Yale will accept me.” 

Nalini raises an eyebrow as she sets down the food at the dinner table, indicating with a sweep of her hand that they’re welcome to sit down. “Excellent choice, young man. Did you do any internships for that?” 

Ben launches into an explanation of his intern experience (one at his dad’s work, but he didn’t like that, he much preferred working in the law clinic next to where his dad’s place was) and ignores the poorly concealed eye rolls and sarcastic mutters coming from Devi. 

It’s par the course when he talks, frankly, and it’s kind of entertaining now more than anything. He hates how everything about her is being painted in better tints, now that they’re friends. Even the things she does that used to annoy him don’t annoy him anymore. Well, as much.

“Are you looking at becoming a lawyer, Benjamin?” Nalini asks. 

Ben swallows the far too spicy food, nodding. “Yeah. I think it would be a profession that’s well suited for me. I like to read and write, so.” 

“It’s a good job,” Nalini comments. “One with good hours and good pay.” 

“Plus, everyone knows lawyers are stuck-up assholes, so you’re already covered on that front,” Devi mutters, quiet enough so that only he can hear it. He chokes on his water, trying not to laugh. 

“Devi over here has no idea what she wants to do,” Nalini says. 

“That’s not true!” Devi protests. “I have a few options in mind.” 

“Yes, well, you better hope Princeton accepts you, for that,” Nalini adds. 

“Well, you are very smart,” Ben says, to Devi. She’s told him—with enough detail for him to understand—that sometimes she still feels like her mother’s expectations are stifling, so he can at least help her out on this front. “I think she’ll get in.” 

Devi startles then, and gives him a small, unexpected little smile.

(it’s a little like that time in sophomore year—the kitchen—he thinks, when he’d told her things he’d never told anyone, ever. to this day, he’s still not sure what exactly prompted him to open up, to talk about stuff he still didn’t like thinking about, but it had helped. 

(and then malibu had happened and broken his heart and he thought he was better off just, not talking about it. not thinking about what had happened, how opening up to her felt like cracking open a part of his heart he thought had been rusty and long locked away. it was a culmination of things—model un, shira, his parents—and the feelings he’d gotten so good at pushing down—loneliness, crippling doubt, anxiety—had all come roaring back)

it was hard to fact the fact that while he had the money, he had the material goods, he’d throw it all away in a second for what devi had—a family. sometimes all he wanted was for the feeling of loneliness to go away, and there was nothing that anyone could do but be there to make that happen)

Ben swallows and looks down at his plate—the food’s still too spicy for him and he’s been chugging water like crazy throughout the entire meal, making Devi laugh—and sets his hand next to the plate, shaking slightly. 

“I never said I was sorry for Mohan,” he says quietly. 

Devi freezes next to him instantly, but he doesn’t look at her, focusing on her mother. “I—uh, I realized I never told you that,” he says quietly. 

Nalini gives him a sad smile. “Thank you, Ben.” 

“I don’t um—I remember the first time I met him,” he says. “It was at the art show, for kindergarten.” 

His hands are shaking so hard he shoves them under the table, lacing them together so they stop shaking. “He was the only person there who actually asked me about my art and cared about my answers.” 

“That was the kind of person he was.” 

Ben clears his throat. “Anyways I just—I thought I would say that.” 

Nalini reaches out and touches his hand, for a split second. “I appreciate it.” 

Dinner for the rest of the night is a muted affair, Ben and Devi both rather silent, only answering when questions are directed to them. Devi, in particular, is mute, doesn’t even react when he bites into a chili pepper and downs his entire glass of water. 

He insists on cleaning up after himself, though. Nalini was nice enough to invite him over, even if he was sure he was going to fuck up in some way and embarass himself (or worse, get himself killed) and he just—needs a moment to breathe. 

Devi joins him, because of course she does, and they’re quiet the whole time they’re cleaning up. She tells him where to put things, but other than that, they don’t speak. 

He wants to say something, wants to be the first one to reach out, but he—he can’t. Not when it comes to Devi and her father. Ben has to wait for her to come to him. 

She hands him the last water glass to dry, and then shuts off the tap, drying her hands. 

He tucks it away and sighs. It’s been a  _ long _ day. 

“You didn’t have to say that, you know.” 

He turns around and looks at her, leaning against the kitchen counter. 

“Say what?” 

He can barely hear himself, but there’s something—something fragile about this moment, something that he thinks he will shatter if he speaks too loudly. It’s uncertain territory, feet in shifting sands, a house of cards. 

(sophomore year flashes through his mind in choppy, broken pieces, that moment when he thought—maybe, maybe, maybe—only to be reminded it never could be, it would never happen. two sides of the same coin, that is what he and devi are, two people too unsure of each other and themselves to take the leap. or maybe that’s just him. maybe he’s just the coward.

(the coward who drove her to malibu when she needed him and for what reason? sometimes not even ben thinks he knows why he did that. she was something—something strange to him, when they were fifteen. something more than an enemy, something more than a friend, not quite a—) 

it’s really the perfect way to describe their relationship. whenever she runs, he follows. but when he runs, he knows she’s not going to follow him, knows she’ll leave him be. it doesn’t hurt as much as it should, because he’s a coward who can’t face their past) 

“What you said about my father,” she whispers. 

He furrows his brow. “But I—I wanted to.” 

Devi looks up at him then, questions swimming in her eyes. “You meant it?” 

“Devi,” he says. 

He steps forward, reaches out and touches her arm. 

(it’s funny, really. he can make her fall apart and gasp his name into the air, and somehow that is far easier than touching her arm, than stepping close to her) 

“I meant it,” he affirms. “I meant it, and I remember it.” 

“I can’t believe you remember,” she whispers. 

“I remember your dad smelled like apples,” he says, quietly. “He always had a handkerchief in his pocket, even though no one carries those around anymore.” 

“He liked green sweaters and he hated cutting his hair, but he did it because it made my mom happy,” she whispers, looking down at the table. “He had the worst jokes in the history of the world, like, the pinnacle of dad jokes, but they always made me laugh. He was the best at math and he would always tell me that I had horrible taste in music, but listen to it whenever he drove me around anyways.” 

He reaches a hand out and places it over hers. 

“Thank you for telling me about him.” 

“I’ve never told anyone that stuff before.” Devi looks at him, sadness in her eyes. “I’ve never really been able to.” 

Ben smiles sadly. “I’m glad you felt like you could.” 

They’re quiet for another moment, and then her hand tightens around his, pulling him a bit closer. “Thank you for being my friend.” 

(to this day, becoming friends with devi is the best decision he has ever made, the decision he thinks he was always made to make. it is in moments like these when he knows he cannot, he will not ever regret it. no matter what happens to them,  _ after, _ no matter what happens to them because of—things—no matter what happens, he will never regret her) 

“Of course.” 

She swallows, looks down at their hands. 

(they always seem to end up here)

And then she is pulling him in closer, closer, until he stumbles into her and she reaches up and kisses him and oh—

This is something unlike every other kiss they’ve shared, something unlike any kiss he’s ever shared with anyone. Every inch of Devi bleeds through to him, every inch of her touches him. She’s an explosion, a star system, the whole galaxy contained into one person. 

(he thinks that they are binary stars; when one turns into a white dwarf, the change in mass is so extreme that it ends up stealing mass from its counterpart. when the star exceeds the minimum mass, it then explosively detonates, expanding into a supernova) 

That is what Devi is: a supernova. 

Ben reaches his other hand up, the one not still holding her own, and cups her chin, gently, as gently as possible, taking her in. She’s never kissed him like this before, kissed him like time is unspooling between them, long, long winding threads of hours and seconds and minutes, years even, melting away between them. Nothing else in the world is real except her hand in his, her lips on his. 

There’s always been an edge of desperation to their kisses before, like she was worried about time, like she wanted to kick up the tension and heat and get his hands on her, her hands on him, and those kisses, they set his soul on fire, but this one, this one makes him want to settle into her until there is nothing else left. 

She tilts her head just the slightest bit and sighs into his mouth, and her own hand comes up to mirror his position, cupping his jaw, fingers stroking over his neck and cheek. They’re trading slow, languid kisses in the middle of her kitchen, where, at any moment, her mother or cousin could walk in and find them, but he can’t bring himself to stop. 

He can never stop, when it comes to her. It’s been his weakest point, his one flaw. She bewitches him, crawls into his body and makes every part of him flush with—with  _ something. _

(something, defined as: a thing that is unspecified or unknown.  ~~ a thing that makes him ache for more ~~ )

He focuses on her, on how her lips are soft—impossibly soft—against his, how her skin feels, slightly dry, how she breathes into him. Kissing her is like falling into bed after a long day, it is like basking in the sunlight, it is pure warmth, the kind that wraps around your soul and asks you to lay down with it. 

They finally draw away from each other, after what feels like hours—but could have also been minutes. He doesn’t know, when it comes to her. He barely knows anything about them. 

When his eyes flicker open, they are looking right into hers. He’s always been able to read Devi, been able to know what she was thinking, but right now, he has no idea, none at all, what is going through her mind. 

He forgets about this, though, when she leans forward and presses her forehead against his, closing her eyes. His eyes flutter shut as well, and he breathes her in. 

(jasmine jasmine jasmine)

“Thank you, Ben.” 

Her words carry away on the wind like a kite, and he has to strain to catch them again. He replays them in his mind, and wishes, viscerally, for a moment, that he went by his full name, so he could hear trip over the syllables for a bit longer, so he could relish in the way the cadence of her voice wraps around him. 

Something about the way she says his name makes him think of waves crashing against the surf, of walking on wooden planks leading to the edge of the ocean. It’s in the way she whispers into the night sky.

Watching the waves at night has always been one of his favorite things to do. 

Ben breathes. His hand tightens on hers. 

“Always, Devi.” 

Even with his eyes closed, he can feel her, can feel the way she melts into him just the slightest bit, tension leaching out of her body. They stand there, foreheads pressed against one another. In her kitchen, yellow light flooding over them. He thinks if he could see them right now, they would look like a painting, a glow behind them that illuminates their bodies. In the space between them, energy hums.

(there are a thousand things left unsaid. as always, when it comes to them) 

It is in this moment that Ben realizes he’s well and truly fucked. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> your comments and kudos make me happier than fabiola talking to gears brosnan!! come talk to me about the show! you can find me on tumblr: @[parkersedith](https://parkersedith.tumblr.com)


	6. act vi: i could never define all that you are to me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Ben watches her go, then drops his own head in his hands. Fucking hell. Direct communication. Their Kryptonite._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is brought to you by leila's insane amount of talent and maggie's simping for white boys
> 
> hey guys! i'm back again with another chapter! starting with this chapter, i'm going to try to stick to an every five days sort of update schedule. guys, i appreciate how excited you are for these chapters, but please, stop commenting for me to update. I average ~15k a chapter, which is over 40 pages on google docs, and it's very time consuming, writing this. i appreciate your enthusiasm, but i just ask that you refrain from comments saying "please update" 
> 
> this chapter reads as a love letter to friendship and communication. i hope you guys like. it also features a new pov and mentions of a rarepair i hold near and dear to my heart
> 
> disclaimer: the science comes from some textbooks and google. i don't know if it's accurate and i'm aware healthcare professionals read this fic. i don't care if its accurate, just don't blame me, lol
> 
> all the college info is based off of my personal life, so, that's where it comes from. 
> 
> (chapter title from “movement” by hozier)
> 
> ok guys enjoy!!!

Ben sits on his bed, cross legged, staring at his laptop. 

The email from Princeton saying that there’s been an update made to his application glows on the screen, deceptively ominous. 

He doesn’t know why he’s scared. He’s been prepared for this day since he was 6 years old. 

The emails from his other schools; Brown, Harvard, Yale, and UPenn, are all sitting in his inbox, waiting for them to be opened. 

December 12th. Ivy Day. 

The whole school had been on edge today, everyone waiting for the emails saying that an update to their application had been made. He and Devi had been so preoccupied, he hadn’t been able to snipe at her the entire day. Lunch had been tense, despite the efforts of Eleanor and Fabiola, who had already gotten their acceptances from Julliard and MIT, respectively, and Devi had snapped at him the whole time as he’d driven her home. 

And now he sits here, hand shaking as it hovers over the mousepad. 

Princeton isn’t even his top choice. It’s a phenomenal school, and he knows he’d be lucky to get in, but Yale, Yale is where he’d always pictured himself. 

Even applying to  _ Harvard,  _ number one, best in everything, couldn’t shake the feeling that Yale was it for him. 

But now, now he’s been feeling uncertainty coil in his stomach whenever he thinks about college. For the first time in his life, Ben has no idea what his plans post-high school are going to be, and he  _ hates _ it. 

(this might also have something to do with the fact that in the past few weeks he’s realized he has a  _ massive _ crush on his friend, like, of gargantuan proportions, and he’s not exactly sure how to navigate these feelings—ben doesn’t  _ do _ crushes, doesn’t do confusion when it comes to his feelings—except—this is devi. his feelings about her have always been confusing) 

Ben groans and decides to bite the bullet. 

Fuck, he’s more scared for this than Yale’s letter. 

He takes a deep breath in, and clicks the button. 

At first, he’s not quite sure how to feel, staring at the first few words on the screen. 

_ We are delighted to congratulate you on your acceptance to Princeton University. _

There’s confetti going off on the screen, fireworks coded into the page, but that’s nothing compared to the alarm bells and sirens that are ringing in his mind, putting his system into panic mode. 

He can’t look at this any longer—seriously, cannot. Ben closes out of the application and opens his other ones. Brown, yes. Harvard, yes. UPenn, no, but he hadn’t really wanted to go there anyways. 

He navigates to Yale last, perhaps to put off the inevitability of his future, to avoid watching it crumble down around him. 

Yale’s his dream, his dream,  _ his dream. _

Ben opens the letter. 

It’s a strangely anti-climatic moment. He’s seen the videos of people reacting to college decisions, screaming with joy when they got in, struggling to hold back tears when they didn’t, and yet, he’s not sure how to feel about the letters staring him in the face. 

He got in. 

He got into his dream school, and suddenly, everything feels a lot more fucked up. 

Ben swears and closes his laptop, flopping back on his bed to stare at the ceiling. “You’re such an idiot,” he groans. 

Where is the euphoria, the rightness of the decision swirling in his gut? Even now, Ben knows, knows he loves Yale. Knows he wants to go there. So why is he so conflicted? 

The answer is easy: Devi. 

But just because she’s his friend and he has like, the mildest (read: biggest) feelings for her in the world doesn’t mean he should follow her to Princeton. Not only would that be hella weird and just—not it, it’s not what  _ she _ wants, if how she reacted at Model UN was any indication. And if there’s one thing in the world he’ll respect, it’s her wishes. 

Ben almost reaches for the phone to pick it up and call her, to ask her, but he knows she got in. He knows it with a surety he rarely feels about anything else. 

(it’s strange, how uncertain and certain he feels about her. devi is the one constant in his life, someone who has always, always been there, and yet, she is the most confusing thing in his life. he is both sure and unsure of her in completely different ways, a contradictory being, and it makes his head spin) 

Ben closes his eyes, rubbing his hands over his face, and decidedly ignores the situation. This is the approach they’ll take. It’ll be a good one. It’s definitely not the healthiest, but it’s the easiest. Facing their looming future and the inevitable dissolution of—this, that’s the hardest thing, and so he doesn’t want to think about it right now. 

He stuffs his head under his pillow and tries to go to sleep. 

* * *

“Subliminal messaging?” 

Ben nearly bangs his head against his locker in shock. He turns around to see Devi, leaning against the lockers, smirking at him. 

“What?” 

She nods at his t-shirt. “You’re wearing blue. Got into Yale?” Her eyes sparkle, but there’s a layer of hesitation there, like she’s just realized what she’s said. Like she’s not sure how he’ll answer. 

Ben lifts his backpack over his shoulder, smirking at the way Devi’s gaze drops to his arm as he does so. “Why do you care, David?” 

He sets off to first period, and she follows him, bumping his shoulder with hers as they walk down the hall. “Cause friends tell each other that kind of stuff,” she says. 

He glances over at her. “Right.” 

Not to his surprise, they still haven’t talked about their fight at Model UN, haven’t touched on why she was so scared of him coming to Princeton. He’s not going to take her spot. And Princeton’s a big school. Just because he got in doesn’t absolve her from going. 

He drops his backpack on the floor and sits down, rubbing at the back of his neck with his hand. “Yes.” 

Devi looks up at him, crossing her legs underneath her desk. “What?” 

“Yes, I got into Yale,” he sighs. 

Devi’s face breaks out into a wide smile. “Oh, wow, Ben, that’s so great! Another box for you to check off on the “boring white guy” list of life: straight, white, rich, going to Yale,” she counts, checking them off on her fingers as she goes. “I’m proud. Didn’t think you could hit all of them, but you did.” 

Ben nods, giving her a tight smile. “Thanks for the faith, David.” 

Devi flashes him an odd look and opens her mouth to say something, but then Shapiro walks in, and the class starts. 

He can feel her gaze on him the entirety of class, and he hunches over his desk further, as if that would do anything to protect himself. He’s just—confused. He doesn’t know what he wants anymore, doesn’t have a plan, and that scares him, a lot. 

He’s in a haze the whole day, and begs off lunch with Devi, claiming he’s got work to finish up. She knows he’s lying, of course she does, but she lets him go. Just this once. 

When he finally gets back home he does the same thing he did yesterday, bury himself in his bed. He’s got  _ so _ much work to get through, so many things to get done, and yet he can’t think about this. 

(he wants to, though. wants to let himself think of the possibility that maybe things would be ok if—if he went but it’s just not the case. that’s not how this works)

Ben rolls over, staring at his ceiling, when he hears his bedroom door open. Before he can even sit up, Devi clambers on top of him, pulling him up. 

He manages to stutter out a confused, “What?” before she leans down and kisses him. 

She kisses him like he’s a shot of tequila, hard, fast, something to be consumed to forget. Her hands smooth underneath his shirt and she barely pulls away long enough for her to tug it off, let alone for him to get his bearings. 

She curves into him as she kisses him, vicious, and he can barely get his head on straight. She’s overwhelming, a forest fire that sweeps through him and lays waste to his insides, ashes upon ashes. 

He could fight her on this, pull back and ask her what the hell she’s doing, but he doesn’t need to. He knows what she’s doing. She’s forgetting. 

And for a second, he wants to as well. 

So he kisses her back hard, rougher than normal, fingers pulling at the hem of her shirt insistently. Devi pulls back just long enough for him to yank her shirt over her head before his hand is curving around her neck and tugging her down to kiss him once more. 

He sweeps his tongue into her mouth, and her teeth clash with his. It’s not a romantic kiss, not sweet, there’s no love in it. 

It’s messy and hard and desperate, it’s hard and painful and Ben knows he’ll regret not talking about this further down the line. 

But Devi’s always been able to make him do things he shouldn’t, make him break the rules, so he shoves that out of his mind. 

His hands drag up her back and flick open the clasp of her bra, pulling it off of her. Devi squirms in his lap as he drags his thumb over the curve of her breast, gasping when his fingers tighten on her waist to pull her closer. 

She pulls away from him and drops kisses down his neck, all the way down to his collarbone, and then bites into his skin,  _ hard. _

His hips buck up unexpectedly. “Devi,” he gasps. 

She ignores him, lets her tongue drag over his skin, lips sliding over the jut of his bone, making sure she leaves a mark there. Some part of him delights in this, delights in how she claims him, how she wants to leave her mark on him just as bad as he wants to on her. 

(and another part of him is spinning at what it means, at this confusing madness, at the way she pulls into him and then pulls away from him. but none of that is as important as where they are right now, with her on top of him and searching for something that only he can give her)

Ben cups her jaw and pulls her away from his skin, dragging her head back up so he can do the same to her neck. He scrapes his teeth across her pulse point, and she moans raggedly into the air as she clutches him tighter. 

Hard, fast, painful, it’s the only word he has for this moment right now. There’s no softness in it, no gentle touches and lingering glances, nothing to it that could be classified as anything other than vicious. 

“Is this enough for you?” he murmurs, hands skimming down her hips to shove her off of him. 

She falls back onto his bed and looks up at him with wide eyes. “What?” 

“You want to forget, don’t you?” he asks, pulling her jeans off. “Am I doing that for you?” 

Devis eyes glint as she picks up on his challenge. “Not yet.” 

The admission rips a snarl from his throat, and then suddenly he’s tugging off her underwear, pressing kisses down her hip. 

“No.” 

Ben stops. “What?” 

Devi shakes her head. “Not today. Take your pants off,” she says. 

“Devi, what—” 

“It wasn’t a question, Ben,” she snaps. 

Ben raises an eyebrow. “Bossy.” 

Devi tosses her hair over her shoulder, not caring that his eyes drag over her chest shamelessly. “Listen to me, Gross.” 

Fuck, that’s hot. 

Before he can debate the nuances of being ridiculously into his friend bossing him around in bed, she reaches forward and flicks open the button of his jeans. “Make me forget, Ben.” 

It’s not a plea, it’s a command. It’s a mandate. 

But the reason it’s also so good with Devi is that it’s a dance of equals, a balance, a  _ partnership. _ So, he smirks at her. “Come get it from me.” 

Her eyes darken with the challenge, and then she’s tugging his jeans off and grabbing a condom from his dresser drawer, rolling it onto him before she sinks down. 

“God, Devi,” he bites out. 

“You did tell me to come and get it,” she smirks. 

He manages to open his eyes to look into hers. “That I did.” 

Her hair falls down around them as she leans down to kiss him, hard, and rolls her hips into his. He needs to breathe, needs to take in oxygen so his head stops spinning, but he can’t even do that, can’t even breathe as she moves on top of him. 

She chases her own release, and it’s one of the hottest things he’s ever seen. 

Leaning forward, Ben pulls her closer to him, helping her get there, even at the expense of his own pleasure. The way her nails carve patterns into his back hurts, makes him wince, and yet he’ll take all the pain and suffering for her to get her pleasure, to get that high. 

Devi moans when he drags his hand down her chest, palming every inch of skin he can, but she melts into his touch enough to know she likes it. 

He bucks up into her twice, snaps their hips together harshly, and then she comes above him, cursing, a string of unintelligible words falling from her mouth quietly. He thinks he catches his name in the letters that fall from her lips, but he’s not sure. 

She shifts slightly in his lap, and he’s wound up enough that even that slight movement is enough to make him break into her, and she holds him closer as he shakes under her, ecstasy seeping into his bones from his blood.

Her hand is running through his hair over and over again as his vision clear, as he comes back to earth, and he realizes he’s breathing into her collarbone, probably annoying her. 

“Sorry,” he says, pulling back. 

Devi shakes her head, thumbs running across his cheeks as she looks down at him. “It’s fine.” A grin crosses her face, smug. “I liked it.” 

“You know, you really have the biggest ego of anyone I’ve ever met,” he says, hands sliding around her waist to link at the small of her back. 

His thumbs stroke her skin gently, and she gasps, melting into him. “Have you  _ met _ yourself?” she says, her own hand comes up to gently scrape her nails across his neck. 

They should probably move, probably lock the door and get dressed and deal with this, and yet—all he wants to do is sit here with her, legs entangled with hers. 

Ben presses his hands more firmly against her back, and she moans in shock, the small sound slipping from her lips. He furrows his eyebrows. “God, Devi, you’re tense.” 

“Can you blame me?” she breathes. 

Well, that’s true. Still. He doesn’t like the idea of her being tense, her being in pain. “Go get cleaned up,” he says softly. “And don’t get dressed.” 

Devi raises an eyebrow. “What?”

He sighs, running his hands up her back. “Just—trust me on this?” 

“I never trust you on anything, Gross,” she quips, but she gently slides off of him and heads to the bathroom, grabbing the sheets off his bed with her. It’s a little habit she always does, he notes, covering herself up after they’ve slept together. It’s cute. 

By the time the both of them are freshened up after, Devi’s staring at him, sitting in his bed, arms crossed over her chest. “So, why are you dressed and I’m not, Gross?” 

“I’m just wearing jeans.” He takes a look at her, tangled up in the sheets of his bed, mentally committing the imagine to memory. It’s perfect, something he doesn’t want ever to leave him. 

“Are you trying to kill me?” she says, narrowing her eyes. 

“On the contrary, David, I’m trying to help you.” Ben climbs up on his bed and smooths his hand down the plane of her back. “Lie down,” he says, softly.

Devi looks at him. “Why?” 

“Lie down on your front. I’m gonna get rid of some of that tenseness in your back.” 

She finally seems to understand what he means, then, her mouth dropping open slightly. “You’re—you’re gonna give me a massage?” 

He nods. 

“Is this going to be the happy ending kind?” she says suspiciously, squinting at him.

Ben smirks. “What, was what we just did not enough for you?” 

“No, I just don’t need to go again so soon,” she shoots back, gathering her hair with her hand to drape over one shoulder. 

“No, this isn’t that kind. I’m just trying to get you to be less stressed. Maybe you’ll stop yelling at me then!” 

“Considering your idiocy is the reason for the vast majority of my tenseness, Gross, I’m not exactly sure I should trust you with this,” she breathes, although the glint in her eyes belies her interest. 

“If you didn’t think you could handle my hands all over you, you just had to say, David,” he smirks. 

She narrows her eyes at him. “Of course I can,” she snaps, just like he knew she would. She shifts slightly, lying down so her front is pressed against his bed. “This ok?” 

“Don’t put your head on the pillow,” he says. “Don’t want to hurt your neck.” 

He pulls the pillow out from her gently and moves so his knees are bracketing her hips, sitting on his heels. He runs a hand down the curve of her back, enjoying the way she gasps when he does. 

“Are you ok, David?’ he smirks. 

(frankly, his mind is going a little haywire as well. miles and miles of skin for him to look at, smooth and unblemished, that he wants to spend every inch of discovering with his hands and lips, but there’s a time for that, and that time isn’t now) 

“I’m fine, Gross,” she bites out. 

“Good. Because I want you to tell me the name of every muscle I’m touching.” 

She turns her head then, enough to look him in the eyes. “What?” 

“Don’t pretend, Devi,” Ben smirks. “You like biology. You like anatomy anymore. You told me you wanted to be a doctor.” 

“That doesn’t mean I know the names of the muscles.” 

“Not for most people, no. But you’re not most people, are you?” He raises an eyebrow as a challenge, and she groans, flopping back onto her front, cheek pressed into the mattress. 

“I hate you,” she murmurs. 

“No you don’t.” 

Ben starts at the small of her back, fingers digging into her skin for a quick moment, rubbing circles into them. “Oh,” she gasps. 

“What’s this one called?” 

Devi presses her cheek further into the bed as his hands shift, digging into her back a bit harder. “That’s—that’s the thoracolumbar fascia,” she breathes. 

“Hmm,” he hums, noting the way her limbs loosen up when he presses the heels of his palms to the sides of the small of her back. He grazes his hands up a bit, and shifts them to the right side of her back, rolling his hands into them. She moans, soft, quiet, and it’s way more endearing than it should be. 

“These ones?” 

“The serratus muscles. But—but I don’t know if they’re anterior or interior. God,” she sighs. “That feels really good.” 

Ben bites back a retort and just presses into her skin harder, working at the knots he finds there. “Holy fuck, Devi, why are you so tense?” 

“I told you, Gross,” she mumbles. “It’s all because of you.” 

Ben shifts to the other side of her back, and the way she reacts then is almost sinful, arching into his touch with a cut off moan that she doesn’t quite manage to conceal. He bites his tongue, ignoring the way his blood pounds, and focuses on her. “This muscle?” 

“I—I think that’s the latissimus dorsi muscle.” Ben gently strikes a spot on her back with the heel of his palm, and she gasps. “Oh, right there.” 

He smiles, rolling over the spot with his hands, over and over again, tenderly easing the tension out, until her muscles are soft, pliant, almost liquid under his hands. “Are you ok so far?” he asks. 

Devi nods, yawning. “Please—please don’t stop,” she murmurs.

“Of course not.” Ben skates his fingers a bit further up her back and stops on top of her shoulder blades, feeling the bone cut into his hands as he sweeps his palm over them a few times. 

“That’s the infraspinatus muscle,” she answers, without him having even asked. Her voice is soft, tender, thick with exhaustion in a way he’s never heard it before. She seems content to melt into here and sleep for a thousand years. 

(he wouldn’t be opposed to her doing such a thing, no matter how much it blurs the lines of their friendship and that damned contract they’ve already broken, a million times over)

Ben shoves those thoughts out of his mind and resists the urge to lean down and scatter kisses all over her shoulders. Instead, he kneads the muscles there, delighting in the way she shifts underneath him in pleasure, arching gently into his touch, like she wants him to stay there. 

He finally moves up into her shoulders, and nearly bites back a painful groan at how tight her muscles are up here, the knots thick. “Devi, how are you not in constant pain?” 

She sighs. “I got used to it.” 

He presses his palms into her shoulders firmly, and works at the bunch of muscle there, the tension easing away by the minute. If he thought the sounds she made while he was pressing against her lower back were distracting, it’s nothing compared to what she does now. 

Clearly, she’s exhausted and doesn’t know  _ exactly _ what she’s saying, because he can’t imagine in a million years for Devi to ever plead with him. 

“Right—right there! Ben,” she sighs, moving gently. “Thank you.” 

He swallows. She’s—she’s—fuck, this really isn’t helping anything, it is?

To pull his mind away from her and how badly he just wants to lie down next to her and watch her sleep, he focuses on working out all the kinks in her shoulders, which are all  _ full _ of knots. “This muscle?” he asks, moving across the top of her right shoulder, working his fingers into the skin there. 

“Supraspinatus muscle.”

“Hmm,” he says. He curls his hand around her shoulder, letting his thumb graze across her back. “Are you feeling a bit better?” 

“So much better. You’re not too shabby at that, Gross,” she yawns. 

“Glad to hear. I’d like a 5-star review on Yelp, please,” he smirks. 

Now, he  _ knows _ Devi must be half delirious from exhaustion, but right then, she says something she would never say if she was fully conscious: “I’d rather just keep you all to myself.” 

Ben’s heart thuds to a stop in his chest, and he stares at her, hands stilling over her shoulders. She whines, wiggling so that the skin of her back ripples as the muscles move under it, clearly wanting him to move again. “Why did you stop?” 

He snaps back to attention, biting his lip and moving up to the nape of her neck. “Sorry, sorry. Last one, Devi,” he whispers. 

“Trapezius muscle. Easy,” she murmurs.

Ben works at her neck for a few minutes in silence, and slowly, Devi’s breathing deepens, becoming slower and steadier, until it’s clear she’s fallen asleep. He bites back a smile, and shifts off of her, gently, gathering her hair and pulling it to one side so she doesn’t wake up with it in her face. 

He smooths his hand across her shoulder, sweeping it down the length of her back. Ben drags his fingers across the nape of her neck, gently, barely a graze, if anything. 

(he can’t stop looking at her. he wonders if he will ever be able to) 

He shakes his head, forcibly jarring those wanting thoughts out of his mind. No matter how he feels, the only important thing in this situation is how she feels, and, well, she doesn’t feel the same. So he’ll shove his emotions down, and be her friend, and give her whatever she needs. It’s not going to be  _ that _ hard. He’ll get over this, in a few days. The only reason he feels like this is because he hasn’t dated anyone in a while, that’s all. 

But still he can’t resist, leaning down and pressing his lips to the curve where her neck meets her shoulder. Perhaps it’s in response to what he’s done, perhaps it’s simply fortuitous timing, but Devi’s shoulder rolls underneath him, and she huffs into the air, sinking further into his bed. 

He forces himself to pull away, and drags the sheets up, from her waist, carefully draping them, tucking it under her shoulders. 

Sunlight spills onto his bed, next to her, and he slides off, pulling his shirt back on. 

Ben sighs, running his hand over his face and grabbing his phone and a book from his desk. Heading to the door, he gives her one last glance before locking it from the inside, and shutting it behind him, leaving her to sleep.

* * *

Ben’s sitting on his couch, back pressed against the arm with his legs stretched out in front of him, reading, when she finally comes downstairs. 

He glances up to see Devi shuffling into the living room, arms wrapped around herself. 

“Hey,” he says, tucking his bookmark back into his book and setting it aside. “How are you feeling?” 

Devi swallows and sits on his couch, by his feet. “Better,” she says. “Thank you.” 

He nods. “You looked like you could get some rest.” 

She brushes her hair out of her face, looking at him. “So you let me sleep? In—in your room?” 

“I didn’t want to do my homework and you were so exhausted. You need to start getting more rest.” 

She smirks. “Maybe you should stop wearing me out all the time.” 

He freezes. He hadn’t even considered that as a possibility. “Am I? Cause, you know, Devi, you can tell me if I am, I won’t be insulted, or anything.” 

She laughs, reaching forward and curling her hand under his knee. “Ben, calm down. I was joking. You do know what a joke is, right?” 

Her eyes are glittering with mirth, and Ben finds himself relaxing, smirking at her. “Some of us just have a highly developed and sophisticated sense of humor, and don’t laugh at the most inane jokes.” 

“How are you  _ literally _ the most pretentious person on the planet?” 

“Take a study of all 7.6 billion people for that, did you?” he quips, returning to his book. 

“Oh yeah. Asked them all and decided on you.” 

“That must have been a lot of work.” 

“Not when you’re as smart as I am.” 

Ben smiles. “Do you need a ride home?” 

She nods sheepishly. “Yeah, that would be great. I kind of ran over here and—” 

“Accosted me?” he says cheekily. 

She smirks, eyes dragging over his body in a purposeful sort of way that makes his blood boil. “You liked it.” 

“So did you.” 

Devi bites her lip, gathering her hair up and pulling it into a messy bun. He notices that her nails are chipped, a bright, pastel blue. “Anyways,” she breathes. “I kind of need to get home now. Before my mom realizes I’m not there.” 

He glances at the clock and sees that it’s almost 5:30. “Oh, fuck, yeah. Let’s get you home.” 

Ben grabs his keys out of his room, opening the door for her. As he starts the engine, he glances at her, at the chipped nail she taps on the dashboard. 

She’s wearing orange today, he realizes. 

“Subliminal messaging of your own?” 

Devi’s eyes snap over to him. “Hmm?” 

“Princeton orange,” he says, indicating with his head to her shirt. “I should have noticed it earlier, but—well.” 

“Oh.” She looks down at herself, like she’s seeing herself for the first time. “Yeah. I, uh, yeah. I got in.” 

He hums, turning out of his neighborhood. “Yeah, I knew you would.” 

She nods, chewing her lips. The air between them is fraught, suddenly, the way it always is when he brings up college or she offhandedly mentions  _ one day. _ They’ve never known how to talk about—more.

(it’s funny, because both he and devi are meticulous planners when it comes to everything school related, when it comes to everything career related. he might not  _ quite _ know what he wants to do yet, but he’s got an idea, and she’s not dumb enough to not explore her options carefully. so—why can’t they figure this out? why is this the one thing that sends them both running?) 

He bites the bullet and decides, after what happened at Model UN, that he can’t hide this from her any longer, that he has to tell the truth. 

Rule #2. Communication. 

“I got in too.” 

Her hands shake as she places them in her lap. He doesn’t—doesn’t want her to think he’s trying to scare her but he doesn’t know why she’s having such a visceral reaction to this. She got  _ in. _ He’s not beat her out.

“Right,” she says, clearing her throat. Her hair hangs in her face as she looks down at her lap, where her hands are trembling. 

He wants to reach out and take them between his own, if not to stop her shaking but perhaps to shake with her, to be in tandem with her. 

“S—so are you going to go?” 

Ben sighs, leaning against his chair. “I don’t know.” 

“Yale’s the dream, right?” 

He nods, parking the car in front of her house. The sky is dark, stormy, and the air itself feels heavy, like the moment before the sky cracks open and the heavens fall down. “Yale’s the dream,” he repeats, quietly. 

“So then why are we having this conversation?” she snaps. 

Ben shifts his eyes over to her tiredly. He doesn’t feel like having this argument, not again. 

(devi’s an ocean storm contained in one person, wild, wind whipped hair, dark eyes that hold as much depth as the marianas trench, and there are times when he thinks he can navigate her safely, thinks he understands all that lurks within her—and there are other times when he is reminded that he is foolish for ever thinking the ocean can be tamed) 

“I’m not doing this with you, Devi,” he says, drawn out. Ben rubs at his eyes with his hands, suddenly exhausted. “Not again.” 

“But—but,” she stammers. 

“But what? You got in. Go. Have fun at your dream school. I’ll figure my own shit out.” 

“Ben,” she tries. 

He holds up his hand. “I can’t, Devi. Not now.” 

Devi’s face hardens. “Fine. Be like that. Don’t tell me why.” 

She opens the door and slams it behind her, stalking off into her house, the wind whipping her hair. Ben watches her go, then drops his own head in his hands. Fucking hell. Direct communication. Their Kryptonite. 

He laughs bitterly to himself, and then pulls away from the curb. 

He’s got a  _ lot _ to figure out. 

* * *

At first, Eleanor brushes off Devi’s odd behavior as the result of her split with Paxton. Sure, that had happened at the beginning of the summer, and it’s been like, five months since that happened, but, it’s the excuse she assigns it. It’s not the best excuse, admittedly, but it’s one, and frankly, as the lead for the play  _ and _ a shoo-in for the lead in the musical, El doesn’t really  _ have _ time to ponder her friend’s radical shift in behavior. 

Ok, radical is stretching it a bit. Devi’s just gotten a bit more daydream-y and distracted, like there’s somewhere else she’d rather be. 

It takes Eleanor approximately three weeks for her to realize it’s not just somewhere else she’d rather be but  _ someone _ else she’d rather be with. 

Looking back on it, Eleanor’s not that surprised. There had always been an undercurrent to the tension between Ben and Devi, like they couldn’t decide between ripping each other’s clothes off or ripping each other to shred. So, she thinks, it makes sense that it happened. 

At first, the hopeless romantic in her thinks they started to see each other secretly, the sexual tension between them palpable. It only takes her a few days to realize it’s  _ not _ like that. 

They’re just hooking up. 

Oh  _ god, _ Eleanor doesn’t see how the two of them are so goddamn  _ blind _ to what’s right in front of them, but, she doesn’t know what else to say. 

(eleanor loves devi, she really, really does, but the girl is a goddamn idiot when it comes to her own feelings) 

Of course, it doesn’t really sink in that they’re hooking up until Devi comes back from an MUN trip with Ben and spills some juice on her hand, forcing her to wipe it off with a napkin, and Eleanor catches the faint red band around her wrist for a split second before Devi tugs her sleeve down hurriedly. 

She feels a bit faint. That’s...what they were into. Oh, god. 

Ok, ok, no judgement from her, anyways. 

And, that’s besides the point. The point here is that Devi and Ben have finally managed to partially get their shit together, but have not totally gotten their shit together. 

Eleanor’s just waiting for the end of this movie, really. She’s content to let this play out, to watch this saga unfold. Things seem to be progressing fine, anyways.

Until, of course, Monday. 

Eleanor notices something is wrong the second Devi walks—no, stomps—into school. 

“Uh oh,” she whispers, to Fabiola. “Incoming.” 

Fabiola swivels around and looks at Devi. “What could be her problem? Didn’t she like, just get into Princeton?” 

Eleanor snorts. “Who knows. It’s  _ Devi.”  _

“Fair enough.” Fabiola glances at her. “You wanna take it?” 

Considering this has a higher than 78% chance of having something to do with Ben, Eleanor thinks she should be the one to handle the situation. Fab doesn’t know what’s going on (and seriously, Eleanor loves her, but how does she  _ not?) _ and so, she really thinks Fab would just—not be the greatest. 

(sometimes, it gets hard being the only one in the group with a brain cell when it comes to romance. fab borrows it occasionally with eve (and yeah, they’re still together, going on two years) but devi never has it, and eleanor’s wondering what exactly she has to do to get her to use it)

‘Yeah,” Eleanor nods. “I got it.” 

Fabiola waves goodbye to her and splits off to go find Eve, while Eleanor gingerly makes her way to Devi’s locker. 

“Hey, Devi,” she says, drawing out her friend’s name. “What’s up?” 

Devi slams her locker door shut, viciously lifting her bag over her shoulder. “Nothing,” she bites out, with a tight smile. “Why would you say that?” 

“You look like you could take The Rock in a wrestling match right now,” Eleanor deadpans. 

Devi plasters a clearly fake smile to her face—she’s the  _ worst _ liar on the planet, sometimes—and shakes her head. “Nothing’s wrong,” she chirps. 

Then, Ben crosses them in the hallway. 

Eleanor can practically  _ feel _ the temperature of the hallway drop 20 degrees—Celsius, not Fahrenheit, that’s how you know she’s a serious bitch—when their eyes connect. She’s somewhat surprised she doesn’t freeze over right then and there, turning into an Eleanor icicle. An El-cicle? 

Whatever. She shakes her head, crossing her arms, eyeing her best friend. “We’re not  _ dumb, _ Devi.” 

“Hmm,” Devi says, snapping her attention back to Eleanor. She struggles not to roll her eyes. 

“God, Devi, you’re an idiot.” 

Devi frowns. “I take offense to that statement.” 

“Clearly, something happened between you and Ben,” Eleanor says, waving her hand. “So, spill.” 

Devi sputters at her “W—what?” 

“Again, this is what I mean in thinking we’re idiots. He literally sits with us at  _ lunch, _ Devi. You guys bicker all the time. You’re friends. We know this. Come on, what happened?” 

Devi’s eyes flicker over to Ben, and then back to Eleanor. “Nothing,” she repeats, but the conviction in her voice has lessened, and it’s shaky. 

Eleanor decides to have a little fun. What? Sue her. She’s not getting any action, or anything even  _ resembling _ action, to be honest. She’s never been in a friends with benefits relationship before. 

(give it a little time. she’s going to know what that’s like, when she gets into one with paxton, a few years later, down the line. but, that’s a story for another time)

“Oh, please,” she snorts, flipping her hair behind her shoulder delicately. Her earrings jangle as she turns her head to look at Ben, and then back at her best friend. “It can’t have been  _ that _ bad.” She smirks. “It’s not like you slept with him, or something, right?” 

Eleanor watches with poorly concealed amusement as Devi turns an alarming shade of red, her eyes bugging almost comically. “Ex—excuse me,” Devi coughs. “What?” 

Eleanor laughs, carefully musical, and observes out of the corner of her eye Ben ducking around them making sure to give them a wide berth as he enters the AP Euro classroom. “I’m just saying, Devi. You guys? Well, let’s just say I’m surprised you haven’t burned the school down already. You know, with all of that heat?” 

She winks at Devi, whose mouth drops open. 

“El!” 

“I’m kidding, I'm kidding,” she laughs, deciding to cut her friend a break. “I know you guys are just friends.” 

(yeah, and eleanor wishes she was  _ just friends _ with someone like they were. god, she’s a little horny right now) 

Devi sighs, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. “I don’t know, El,” she breathes. There’s something heavier there, something beyond this dalliance, a deeper hurt that lurks behind Devi’s eyes. 

Eleanor purses her lips, cocking her head. “Seriously, Devi,” she says softly. She reaches a hand out and places it on Devi’s arm. “You know you can always talk to me, right? About anything? I won’t judge.” 

She can easily see the warring emotions flicker over her best friend’s face, before Devi shakes her head. “No, it’s fine, El. Not a big deal anyways. Listen,” Devi says, glancing at the classroom door, “I gotta go, but I’ll catch up with you and Fab later, ok?” 

Eleanor frowns as Devi walks off. Well then. Guess she’s not getting anything out of her. 

There’s only one person to go to, then. 

Ben. 

* * *

Ok, here’s the thing. 

Eleanor’s always, kinda sorta, if you squint, maybe, just a little bit, liked Ben. 

Blasphemy, she knows. Ben’s been Devi’s nemesis (and now, hookup) for the past twelve years, since kindergarten. She’s not  _ supposed _ to like him. She’s not supposed to think he’s a decent guy. 

Except now it’s ok. Because they’re friends. Friends who hook up. 

Fuck, this whole situation is making her head spin. She’s too old for this shit. 

(and yes, she’s well aware she’s still in high school, ok, but eleanor is mature beyond her years and already interested in seeing a college guy. she’s beyond devi’s high school drama. except not really. because it’s kind of interesting. more so than the boring-ass play they’re doing this year. thank god that’s over. musical tryouts were gonna start soon. wait, she’s getting distracted) 

The point is, Eleanor’s always liked Ben. He’s a dick, for sure, but he’s not a  _ bad guy, _ not like Devi had always made him out to be. And, well, she can’t really fault him for being a dick. Point her to the teenager who isn’t, at times, and she’ll give you a Nobel Prize. 

Despite all of that, they’re not like, iconic friends, or something. He’s more Devi’s friend than anything, which is ironic considering the circumstances, and well, Eleanor’s not that close to him. 

But, she’s still gonna get to the bottom of this, and she’s going to get these two idiots to talk. 

Eleanor spends the rest of the day carefully plotting her plan of action, laying the pieces in place. Part of her feels bad, for tricking her friend, but, well, all’s fair in love and war. 

It comes to a head when Eleanor arranges it so that she and Devi can meet up for coffee after school, but then makes sure Devi’s preoccupied with something. 

Eleanor ducks around the empty hallway, and finds Ben in the AP Calculus classroom, finishing up his exam, from when he’d been out last week for some band thing. The school’s deserted, almost everyone long gone as soon as the bell had rung, but in typical Ben fashion, of course he’s stayed a few minutes behind to double check his answers, because that’s  _ exactly _ the kind of guy he is. 

“Hey,” she says, stepping into the room.

The teacher gives her a soft smile as she accepts Ben’s test and ducks out of the room, but Eleanor’s only focused on him. 

He shoots her a confused glance. “Eleanor?” 

“Can we talk?” 

Ben nods slowly, setting his backpack back down and sitting back down in his seat. 

Eleanor drops her own bag—carefully stitched and embroidered by her own hands, bought from a thrift store, of course—and carefully perches on the desk opposite Ben, crossing her knees over one another. 

“So,” she says, grinning impishly. “How are things going?” 

Ben eyes her suspiciously and folds his hands in front of him. “Good,” he says slowly. “What’s going on?” 

Eleanor props her elbow up on her knee, planting her chin in her hand. “What? A girl can’t want to know what’s going on with her friends?” 

“Firstly,” he starts, counting off on his fingers, “no, not if that girl is you.” She pouts at this, but, well, he’s not  _ wrong. _ “Secondly, we’re not friends.” 

Eleanor frowns genuinely at that. “We’re not friends?” 

(ok, she knows she just said they’re not friends. but it kind of hurts coming from him, no lies)

Ben winces. “Well, I mean—you guys are Devi’s friends. And I’m her friend. I didn’t—think you wanted to be my friend.” 

Eleanor sighs. “Look, Benjamin. Devi’s my girl. She always has been, and she always will be. I’m gonna pick her, every time, but I assumed you knew that.” 

He nods. 

“That doesn’t mean I can’t be friends with you. What, I’m only allowed to be friends with Fabiola and Devi? I love them, but god, no. I need more people to appreciate my talent,” she says, winking. 

Ben laughs. “You, uh, you are very talented.” 

Eleanor freezes. “Really?” 

(she hates how her voice slips out, all small and like a child. eleanor—eleanor knows she’s talented, she  _ does, _ but there are moments of raging insecurity that rise up on her like a sudden tsunami wave from the sea, ones she can’t see coming but can feel the aftershocks of for weeks. and, well, she loves her friends, knows they’re honest with her, but it—it means something different, coming from ben. he’s heard the best performers in the world and if he thinks she’s talented then there’s a weight and honesty behind it that wasn’t there before. ben’s the occasional asshole—but he’s not a liar. 

(and perhaps, in some small, dark corner of her heart, eleanor has always, always wanted to be enough. she wasn’t for her mother, and that’s why she left, but—and this is childish, she knows—she thinks that if she’s good enough, her mother will come back. eleanor has only ever wanted her to come back) 

but ben’s words weigh on her, and she feels them burst in her stomach, warm and sparkly, like a balloon filled with too much golden air) 

He nods. “Yeah. Really.” 

Eleanor clears her throat, trying to focus on the situation at hand. “Well, thank you, Ben. I appreciate it.” 

Ben clears his throat. “Listen, El, is there a point to this or—” 

“What happened with Devi?” she blurts out. 

Ben freezes instantly, shock spreading over his face. “What?” 

Eleanor sighs. “You two really think no one is going to notice your behavior? You’re ridiculous.” 

Ben frowns. “Look, El, I don’t know what Devi told you, but—” 

She cuts him off again. “She didn’t tell me anything. That’s why I’m asking you.” 

Ben sighs, clenching his jaw. He rubs his hand along the cut of it, clearly considering his options. “I got into Princeton.” 

Eleanor blinks. “Oh. Well.” 

The unspoken understanding hangs in the air between them. This is a powder keg neither of them want to light up. 

“Yeah,” he groans, leaning back in his chair. He rubs both of his hands over his face. “She freaked when she found out I applied on the Model UN trip, and then she completely shut me out when she found out I got in.” 

Eleanor arches an eyebrow, and he amends his statement. “Ok, I didn’t exactly want to talk about it either.” 

She shakes her head. “Ben, you’re a fucking idiot.” 

“I know.” 

She snorts. At least he’s a bit self-aware. 

Out of the corner of her eye, Eleanor spots a dark strand of hair, moving, and raises her voice carefully. “What’s your problem, anyways? Why are you so stressed about Devi and Princeton?” 

The movement stops, and Eleanor bites back a smirk. Too easy, they were. 

“I just—don’t want her to think I expect anything,” he admits. 

Eleanor whips her head around to look at him fully. “What?” 

It’s not the answer she was expecting.

Ben looks down at the desk, fingers tapping against the wood. The lines of his shoulders are tense, drawn, his face almost gaunt in a way it normally isn’t. Blue eyes that look almost sunken, exhausted, without a snap of life. He looks like he’s in  _ pain, _ and it hurts her. “I don’t—I don’t want Devi to think I’m following her somewhere, Eleanor.”

Eleanor hops down from the desk, sitting in its chair instead. She leans forward, and hesitates for a moment, but covers his hand with hers. “Ben,” she says gently. “You can trust me.” 

“I just—there’s a lot of shit between us,” he mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. “And we just became friends after like, twelve fucking years of fighting, and I’m worried that she’ll think I’m trying to bring up the past or that I won’t let her go if I follow her. I just—I don’t want to push her.” 

Oh,  _ fuck. _ This goes a lot deeper than what either of them are willing to see, huh? Well, she still has to operate under the pretense that she doesn’t know what’s going on with them and their relationship.

(eleanor wonders if this is what hermione feels like, all the time. it’s exhausting) 

“Ben,” she starts, squeezing his hand. “Have you  _ told _ her any of this?” 

He laughs, bitterly. “You know Devi. She doesn’t like to have tough conversations.” 

Eleanor concedes the point with a nod of her head. “That’s true. But Ben, you’re not doing either of you a favor by not talking to her about this.” 

“I don’t know what to say!” he explodes, chair scraping harshly against the linoleum floor as he pushes himself back. She notes the flush of color on his cheek, the way his hand shakes under her own. 

(posturing, she recognizes. she’s gotten quite good at it herself) 

“I don’t know what to say,” he repeats, quieter. “I’m not sure how to ever really talk to her, sometimes.” 

“So what, you don’t even try?” Eleanor flips her hair over her shoulder with her free hand and clucks her tongue disapprovingly. “Benjamin,” she sighs. “You can’t just not try.” 

“What if she’s made it very clear she doesn’t want to talk about this?” he points out. 

She shakes her head. “Just because she doesn’t want to talk about this doesn’t mean she doesn’t need to.” 

He still looks a little uncertain, and Eleanor decides to take a stab in the dark. “Ben, you’ve always known what she needs. Better than most of us.” 

He startles at that, as if he was expecting something else. 

“What?” 

She smiles. “Don’t even lie. You know you do.” 

Ben chews on his lip. “I don’t—where do I even start? What do I even say? I don’t want her to think I want anything from her.” 

Measured, and careful, is really the only way to describe the way she moves, slowly cocking her head to the side, eyes skating down the length of his body. Observant, perhaps, is another way to say it. 

“How do you feel about Princeton? Like,  _ just _ the school. Forget about anything and anyone else.” 

“It’s a great school,” he responds instantly. “A really, really good one.” 

“Would you be happy going there?” 

“Yeah.” 

She hears the unspoken  _ but _ in that sentence and raises an eyebrow. “Go on.” 

“But Yale’s the dream,” he says softly. “Yale’s where I’ve always wanted to go.” 

She frowns. “How long have you thought Yale was the dream?” 

“Since I was 6,” he answers. “It’s always been the dream.” 

“That sounds more like you’ve convinced yourself it’s the dream than it actually is.” 

He falls dead silent at that, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. “It is, El.” 

She leans back, studies him. Studies the blue shirt he is wearing—designer, she recognizes, not sustainable. Studies the blunt nails on his hand and the way his knee bounces underneath the desk. Studies the way his shoes do not squeak against the floor—a sure sign they are not new, no matter how clean they may look. 

(eleanor studies people. it is what she does. she studies them, and she waits for them to leave)

“But what if that dream has changed?” she pushes gently. 

“It can’t, Eleanor. It’s not what Devi wants.” 

Eleanor’s shoulders slump, as she lets a breath out. They’re not getting anywhere with this dance. 

“Ben,” she says quietly. “You know how my mom left and then came back in sophomore year of high school, right? And then left again?” 

He nods. 

She removes her hand from his and folds them neatly in front of herself, back straightening—women with bad posture did  _ not _ get lead roles on Broadway, she reminds herself—and does not cry. 

Eleanor is well, well aware of her tendency to exaggerate, to fling out ridiculous comparisons as easily as one might fling out confetti, to fling out affection, and love, but here is what they do not understand: that it is far harder for her to take it back. 

(love is something to be doled out liberally, she feels, and it is something that she doesn’t think she’ll ever get enough of) 

“I know a little bit about not wanting to talk about things because they’re hard,” she says quietly. 

“Eleanor.” 

She holds up a hand to stop him. “I’m about to monologue, Benjamin. I can’t exactly make it one if you keep interrupting, so, please.” 

His mouth shuts almost comically quickly. 

“Ben, my mother left. She left me behind. You are the  _ only _ other person I know who knows what that feels. To be the second choice.” 

(second choice second choice second choice, it repeats in her mind like the worst kind of mantra, the kind that keeps her awake at night. she aches for a mother, aches for sharon to be better, but then, aches for sharon to have never existed. she thinks it is so much worse for your mother to have left, because her mother was chasing a dream. eleanor wasn’t the dream enough for her) 

Those damn blue eyes of his blink at her almost owlishly. Devi really thinks she’s the only person on earth who’s noticed his eyes, but Eleanor is an actor. A  _ performer. _ Her art is people, and she has gotten extremely good at studying them. 

She continues, and hopes her voice does not shake as much as she thinks it is going to. “I am telling you this because you know what it is like for your own parents to chase after other things, and leave you behind.” Ben swallows, and Eleanor thinks, in that moment, something between them breaks a little. “I don’t talk about this, Ben. Not much. It’s hard to, more painful than most things. Devi doesn’t get it, Ben. She’s never been the second choice. But I do. I was the second choice to my mother, and some small, small part of me still hopes that she will come back. I don’t know why, but it does.” Eleanor sighs, letting her eyes flicker to the door every so quickly. “You can’t keep putting aside your own happiness for the sake of others, Ben. you deserve better than that.” 

“But they love me,” he murmurs. “I know they do.” 

“They love you, sure,” Eleanor says, “but you’re not a client, Ben. You’re their son. You can’t keep letting them run off and not telling them how you feel. You can’t keep making yourself the last option.” 

When his eyes meet hers, Eleanor sees something of her eyes reflected in them, but slightly distorted, like a broken mirror or rippling water.

(eleanor feels a sort of connection with ben, now, in this moment. she sees a lifetime of being left behind flick through his eyes, a lifetime of being an afterthought. she knows, perhaps better than anyone, what it feels like to be an afterthought. even after her mother, eleanor has never been the one people stick around for. she has always been the one who has been left behind)

Maybe, then, she decides, she can stick around for Ben, and he for her. It is the least they can do for each other. 

“You and I both don’t deserve to be the last option, Ben,” she says gently. It is a conclusion born out of hours and hours of therapy and jarring relizations, issues that she does not want to wipe the dust off at this moment. She needs to keep it as simple as she can. “Just because it’s what has happened your whole life doesn’t make it fair at all.” 

He looks down at the desk, and she links their fingers together again, gripping his hand tightly. “Maybe Yale’s not your dream, anymore,” she says softly. “Maybe your dream has changed. And I know you care about Devi, I  _ know _ you do. But you can’t keep running from your future because of her. You deserve to be happy too.” 

The way Ben’s eyes drop to the floor convinces Eleanor he knows she’s right. 

“Where do I even start?” 

She shakes her head at that. “I can’t tell you that, Ben. That’s for you and Devi to figure out.” 

Ben traces the pattern on the wood of the desk over and over again, for what seems like an eternity, before his eyes lift up and his mouth tilts up in a small smile. “Thanks, El.” 

She grins. “What are friends for?” 

Ben laughs. “True enough.” 

Eleanor stands up then, curling her hands around each other. Her pastel pink nails are flawless, as always. She smiles at him. “You got this, Ben. I know you do.” 

He stands up as well, smoothing his hands nervously down his jeans. “I hope so.” 

She cocks her head, glossy hair spilling over her shoulder, and—well, she’s always been the affectionate one of the trio. Eleanor steps forward, slides her arms around Ben’s waist, and hugs him tightly. “I believe in you. Go chase your dream.” 

Ben seems stunned for a moment, and then his arms slide around her waist and pull her closer. He smells like a faint, spicy scent, comforting. “You’re the best.” 

(she is not, but she appreciates it. there are moments, moments in her life when she wonders, exactly, who loves her. who she loves. that’s the thing about having a parent who chooses a dream over you. you wonder if they love you at all.

(and her greatest, greatest fear, the one that she will never,  _ never _ tell anyone, is that she and her mother are more alike than not, that eleanor will end up leaving someone behind one day, end up breaking their heart irreparably, and—well, that hurts her)

but there is one thing she can do, and that is be kind. even if she ends up like her mother, she will have been kind, she will have helped, and she will die by those words)

Eleanor pulls back, steps back and carefully rearranges the loose strands of hair that fall over her face to have them fall artfully over her cheeks. “I am,” she smirks. 

He shoves his hands in his pockets, and, Eleanor thinks she’s let him a bit too easily off the hook. Smirking, she says, “so, going to go kiss and make up with Devi? Make sure to use protection.” She winks at him. 

Ben’s face turns a bright, cherry tomato red, exploding over his cheeks and spilling down his neck. Seriously, had anyone ever taught these two the fucking definition of subtle? Eleanor’s well aware her classmates were  _ idiotic, _ but this, not noticing  _ this, _ that was another level of idiocy. 

“Um, what—what are you talking about?” he stammers. 

For once, she takes pity on the poor guy, shaking her head. “It’s a figure of speech, poindexter.” 

“Poindexter?” he repeats, wrinkles appearing as his face scrunches up in confusion. 

“It’s a term commonly used to refer to nerdy people. You know, such as yourself.” 

“No, I know what it means. It’s just such a  _ Eleanor _ thing to say.” 

She’s the one who blushes at that, splotchy and red. “I hope that’s a compliment.” 

“Of course it is. At times. When you’re not monologuing.” 

She smacks him on the arm. “Please. You like my monologues. They add  _ vivacity,” _ she says, smirking. 

Ben smirks back, picking his bag up. “I have to go, but, uh—” 

“I’ll see you around,” she reassures him. Shooting him a wink, Eleanor glides over to her desk and picks up her bag, carefully brushing off any imaginary specks of dust that may have gotten on it. “I need someone to come to thrift stores with me.” 

He barks out a surprised laugh. “I thought you said my fashion sense—or lack thereof—was atrocious.” 

“Oh, it absolutely is, Benjamin,” she laughs, walking to the door and curling her hand around it, glancing at him. “But you’re the only person who will wait with me.” She shoots him one last grin, before walking out of the room. 

Eleanor bites back a grin when she finds Devi standing outside the school, oddly quiet. “Hey,” she says, causing her best friend to startle slightly. 

Devi brushes her hair out of her eyes. “Hi, El. Sorry, I got a bit held up.” 

Eleanor waves it off with her hand. “So did I. So, Starbucks?” she asks, as they make their way to Eleanor’s car. 

Devi nods, her head a million miles away, and Eleanor can’t help the bolt of victory that shoots through her when Devi’s eyes slide away from the car to latch on Ben, who’s headed to his own vehicle. 

“Girls day?” she quips. “Or should we ask Ben to join us?” 

Devi shakes her head. “Girls day,” she insists. “I’ll talk to him later.” 

Eleanor nods, earrings swinging. “Whatever you say,” she smirks. Devi slides into the passenger seat, her eyes still on Ben.

Unexpectedly, jealousy coils in her stomach. Not of—of Devi, but of Devi and Ben. She wants that. Wants someone’s eyes to linger on her, to make her feel beautiful. Wants it beyond just—a quick hookup at a cast party and mediocre kisses. She wants something  _ good. _

Finding something real—Eleanor might be a hopeless romantic, but she’s not an  _ idiot. _ She’s not unaware that high school relationships don’t tend to last, that they are more fleeting than butterflies on a summer day. No matter how much one might want to be a romantic, sometimes reality just—doesn’t let that happen. And that’s ok. Ish. 

(it is not her time, quite yet. in a little bit, eleanor will find herself surrounded by gray sheets and tanned skin, will find her skin lingering with the touch of  _ him, _ will find herself staring at the sky and wondering when it will crack open, will watch as yellow streetlights and stage makeup mix on her skin. it is not quite  _ their _ time yet, but she will get there. the universe just needs a little bit of time until she and paxton collide) 

* * *

Devi can’t stop thinking about what she’s heard. 

Fuck, Ben was worried about  _ her? _ That was why he didn’t want to talk about Princeton? Who the fuck would have seen that coming? 

(literally: everyone, her mind supplies. ben has always been worried about her over him, has always put her needs and desires above his own, has always done what was best for her, even if it directly conflicted with what was best for him)

Holy fuck, she’s a selfish bitch. 

The realization punches her in the gut  _ and _ sends her spiraling, ducking for cover. 

Why does he always make her feel—like, like  _ this? _ Too much and not enough, all at the same time. There’s got to be some reason for this, some method to this madness. 

She fucking hates it. 

Devi flops back on her bed and stares at the ceiling, resisting the urge to throw herself out her bedroom window and start running, running, running until she felt like she was far away enough from the problem. 

But—and this is the thing—Devi doesn’t  _ like _ running. She hates it, in fact, hates the way it makes her heart pound, the way she feels guilt overwhelm her as she does it, the way everything seems to go worse and worse the second she starts running. 

(maybe it’s because she is always running away from something, never to something) 

But the thought of running from this makes her sicker than normal, sick to her stomach, in fact, because Ben’s just as fucked up about this as she is and he deserves an answer, of some kind, doesn’t he? He deserves something from her. 

(but what can she give him? what can she give him if she’s not even sure what she’s capable of giving?) 

She’s been selfish for long enough. It’s her turn to reach out, across the aisle, to try and fix things and make it all better, to put him before her. 

He deserves that. 

Devi hadn’t—she hadn’t really let herself think about it, but it lands like a visceral blow to her lungs, how  _ lonely _ he must be. 

How self absorbed can she get? It’s always about her, about her grief and her problems and her issues. It’s never been about Ben, been about the countless dinners he has spent eating alone and the countless days he has come home to an almost empty house. They’re friends, and yet, Devi is realizing that she is the one who has been taking advantage of him this whole time. 

She’d fallen asleep in his room and he’d left her to rest. (he’d given her malibu, a place to stay) He’d driven her home and given her  _ everything _ and what had she given him in return? An orgasm? They’re tit for tat on that one, so it doesn’t really count. 

Devi takes. She takes Ben’s kindness for granted. 

(tunnel vision. it’s tunnel vision, and, suddenly, eleanor’s words make so much sense. her father never  _ chose _ to leave her, loved her with every fiber of his body. devi cannot imagine what it feels like to know, to  _ know _ that you are the thing they are settling for, to know you are not the center of their universe. what must it feel like to question if your parents love you?)

She hates the thought, so much that she scrabbles for her phone and finds herself dialing his number before she can think it through. 

She puts it on speaker, and reaches for her sketchpad before she even knows what she’s doing. She stops cold when she flips open the page. 

It’s the sketch she’d done of him that night he’d had dinner at her house, the night she’d kissed him. 

Devi runs her hand over the curve of his cheekbone, flat on the paper. It had scared her beyond comprehension, kissing him in her kitchen. Not because she was afraid of being discovered, but because she had looked at him in the moment and wanted nothing more than his lips on hers. No sex, no passion, just,  _ him. _

(and kissing him, kissing him was one of the best moments of her life, the way his mouth pressed against her, the way he’d touched her like she was a flower petal, fragile, but strong. she hadn’t wanted to kiss him initially, had shoved down the temptation, but then he’d said all those things about her father and was standing there looking at her with those damn blue eyes that she knew were her kryptonite, her weak point)

It was the first time she drew him, and got him right. 

Devi’s so lost in the picture of him, she doesn’t notice when Ben picks up the phone. “Hello?” 

“Hey.” 

He’s silent for a beat, and then sighs. “Hi, Devi.” 

She swallows dryly, brushes a strand of hair behind her ear. She reaches for her pencil and flips to a new page, outlining the curve of his face without even really thinking about it. 

(she never really, really  _ thinks _ when she draws him. it’s something she’s compelled to do, something she needs to do, and she thinks that it is a less than ideal way to approach things, but it’s the only way she’s got)

“Ben, I—I’m sorry.” 

“What for?” he says, slightly shocked. 

Devi sighs, starting on his hair. “For the way I reacted when I found out you applied to Princeton. And when you found out you got in. I was a total bitch, to you, and that wasn’t fair.” 

“Oh. Well, David,” he says, still sounding slightly taken aback, “you being a total bitch to me isn’t  _ exactly _ something I’m unused to. Stamp Act Armageddon of 2016 ringing a bell?” 

She feels her lips curl up in an unbidden smile. “I was right, and you know that. Plus, I wasn’t a  _ total _ bitch.” 

“Please. What do you call rigging the draw so that you would get the Stamp Act, and the proceeding to mock me for the rest of the month about it?” 

“I didn’t rig the draw!” 

“Oh, please, David, don’t insult me. We both know you rigged the draw.” 

“Even  _ if _ I did such a thing, and I invoke my Fifth Amendment rights here, the only reason I would have done it was because the prize was fucking awesome, and you know that.” 

“Yeah, well, I don’t know what was the greatest thing about a coupon to Country Drive-By.” 

Devi’s mouth drops open. “Ben! They have the best ice cream in like, the state!” 

“The best ice cream I’ve ever had was from a restaurant in Marseilles. God, that was the good shit.” 

She snorts. “You’re utterly ridiculous.” 

“And yet, you’re still friends with me.” 

“For some strange reason,” she says, smiling. Devi tilts the paper slightly, and begins filling in the blue of his irises, with pencil, sadly, so she can’t see their true color. “Look, Ben,” she sighs. “I shouldn’t have freaked. It was just, a lot of information, suddenly, and a lot to handle, and I—” 

“Devi.” He stops her, which is probably a good thing, because she has no idea what she is going to say, or what she is even trying to say. She’s just blabbering, at this point, with no rhyme or reason involved. 

“I get it.” 

“You do?” 

“Yeah, of course I do.” Devi gently softens the edge of his jaw with her finger, waiting for him to continue. “It was a lot to pile on you and I definitely could have told you in a much better way. Rather than, you know, you finding out all on your own.” 

She nods. “I mean, I definitely could have reacted better.” 

“Oh yeah, that’s a given.” 

“Ben!” 

He laughs, bright and clear. “What? You just admitted it yourself.” 

“We’re both at fault here!” 

“I’d say it’s more of a 90-10 situation, you ahead, of course.” 

“It’s not like that at  _ all. _ If anything, it’s a 10-90 situation.” 

“Please. You’re definitely the one to be held culpable for this situation.” He pauses for a moment. “You  _ do _ know what culpable means, right, David?” 

“You’re literally  _ such _ an asshole.” 

“Aww, thank you. I didn’t know you paid such close attention!” 

“With a head as big as yours, Gross, I’m pretty sure astronauts are aware of your existence.” 

He laughs, and Devi erases an errant pencil stroke just underneath the drawing of his mouth. This has got to be at  _ least _ the twelfth drawing she’s done of him, and for some reason, she can’t stop. 

The more confused she gets about how she feels, the more she draws him. In the moment, it helps her work through her emotions, helps her compartmentalize what is going on, but after, after she has drawn him and shut the sketchbook away and lain in bed, the confusion comes back again. It is like the phases of the moon: just because it vanishes for a bit does not mean it will not return. It always does, a cyclical pattern. 

Devi drags her attention back to Ben, back to their conversation. “Anyways, do you know where you’re going to go?” 

Ben stops talking. The air is heavier, weightier than it was a moment before, and suddenly Devi is glad they are on the phone. She is not sure she would be able to face the thunderstorm in his eyes if she was looking into them. 

“No,” he finally answers. “I don’t.” 

“What happened to Yale?” 

He sighs, heavy, and Devi pictures the tension melting out of his shoulders, settling away from him. “I don’t know. Maybe Yale is just what I’ve been telling myself I wanted for the past 12 years.” 

“What about—other options?”  _ What about Princeton? _

“I guess we’ll see. Things change.”

She breathes in. Breathes out. Processes what he says. 

(like all things between them, it is unfinished. there is a dangling preposition at the end of it, something that aches to be neatly tied up, wrapped with a bow. but they do not do tying things up neatly. her and ben are impressionists, smudges of ink across a canvas that bleed into one another)

“Fair enough,” she says, and that’s the end of that. 

For the rest of the night she forces herself to stop thinking about college and the future, and tries to enjoy him, the way his laugh is so robust it blares through the small phone speaker and amplifies it in her room. If she closes her eyes really, really tight, doesn’t move a bit, she can almost imagine he’s right there with her, laying side by side on her bed as they exchange stories. 

In her heart, Devi knows she is going to make this a routine, talking to him on the phone. It’s a small thing to do, but it’s a way for her to show him he’s not alone. 

He’ll never be, not as long as she’s there.

Later that night, after they finish talking, Devi looks down at her sketchbook and nearly flings it away from her in shock. 

So wrapped up in talking to Ben, she hadn’t processed what  _ exactly _ it was she’d been drawing, and now, looking at it, it makes her stomach coil. 

It’s him on the Malibu cliffs, the exact moment after she’d—

He’s looking at her like she’s everything and—

She hadn’t been able to resist, overwhelmed by everything that—

Devi rips the page out of her sketchbook and flings it aside. She doesn’t tear it to pieces, she’s not quite sure she’s capable of that, but it’s a near thing. Heaving a breath, she runs her hands over her face. 

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. 

She can’t do this right now. She doesn’t let herself think about Malibu, the way he’d cradled her head and pulled her closer, the way everything had fallen into place for a split second, the way, the way, the way. 

(it lurks, the ghost of her past she doesn’t know how to exorcise. it’s the ghost she doesn’t know if she wants to get rid of) 

Devi flips open to a new page and thinks about something else, thinks about the way Eleanor’s face had looked while opening up to Ben, thinks about the way his eyes had shone as he listened to her, thinks about the way Eleanor had held his hand and the way he’d hugged her. 

Because that’s what a friend did. They listened. And she’s been a pretty shitty one, lately. 

She resolves to talk to Eleanor in the morning, to actually  _ be _ there for her best friend. 

Too keyed up to go to sleep, Devi slips her earbuds in, smoothes her hand over the clean, fresh page, and starts drawing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you couldn't tell, i love eleanor wong. el ben friendship superiority. the eleanor/paxton rarepair is truly maggie's fault and something me and my friends hold near and dear to my heart. convert yourselves to it. your comments and kudos make me happier than rebecca getting into fashion school! come talk to me about the show! you can find me on tumblr: @[parkersedith](https://parkersedith.tumblr.com)


	7. act vii: never could be sweeter than with you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _(which she doesn’t. she doesn’t. or at least, she shouldn’t. she needs to stop giving in to these moments of passion impulses and desires and start being more objective about things, start being more rational about them. but ben makes her irrational, makes her wanting and weak, with no inhibitions. she forgets that she’s not supposed to want him this much whenever she’s with him. it requires no energy on either of their parts, simply the collision of them as reactants, and she undergoes a spontaneous combustion reaction, desperate to pull him closer, to keep him there longer. being trapped in the reaction is always dizzying, always intoxicative and addictive. it’s the after that leaves her heart pounding for him)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is brought to you by me and leila's shared brain cell rehashing all of chemistry 101 this morning in an attempt to get an accurate scientific metaphor
> 
> i've been calling this the jekyll and hyde chapter in my mind while writing it since the two parts are so distinctly different, but they both contain a recurring "theme" i guess
> 
> also holy fuck we broke 100k with this and we're not even halfway thru sdjkfsdk who's surprised? not me. anyways, i hope you guys liked this chapter, i worked really hard on it and nearly constantly to have it out in accordance with the schedule, and i'm very, very proud with how it turned out. it was very emotional and i had a fun time writing it. 
> 
> as always, thanks to leila for helping with the science, you're my goddess. 
> 
> (chapter title from “home” by edward sharpe and the magnetic zeroes)
> 
> ok, thanks guys, enjoy!!!!!

Ben wakes up on the third day of holiday break alone, as per usual. 

It’s not an unforeseen turn of events. In fact, at this point, he thinks he could set his watch—designer, of course—to when his parents ditch him for something or another, predictably. 

This time, for his mother, it had been a special holiday retreat in Bali, one that she had been on the waiting list for  _ years, _ apparently **.** For his father, he was off in Las Vegas trying to wrangle down another one of his clients—Pitbull, Ben thinks—and convince him not to buy out MGM. 

He’s used to it, used to the aching loneliness that manifests. It’s just—how things are. 

Except it’s always a little worse around the holidays. Maybe it’s because he looks around and only sees happy families everywhere, people spending time together, and he locks himself in his room and watches reruns of  _ Rick and Morty _ interspersed with episodes of  _ The West Wing _ and tries, desperately (he usually fails) not to wallow. 

Ben walks downstairs to a dead silent house. Of course Patty’s not here, she’s with her own family, but it still hurts. 

He sits at the kitchen counter and flicks open his laptop, contemplating, for a quick second, to shoot Devi a text to see if she wants to watch a movie together over Netflix Party, or something. Then, he considers seeing if Eleanor wants to do something. She owes him for all the time he’s spent trailing after her at thrift shops for the past weeks. 

He dismisses the thought almost as soon as it appears. They have things to do with their own families, and so, Ben will spend the day alone. Like he always. 

Dragging himself back up to his room, Ben glances over at his dresser, where the large bag rests. 

People got Christmas presents for their friends, right? He didn’t go too overboard?

(he doesn’t—really remember how to do this, in all honesty. how to have friends, that is. it’s been years, and he doesn’t  _ actually _ remember the correct progression of friendship. he’s got el and devi, and he thinks he’s making headway on fabiola, he still, strangely, talks to trent, who’s been his only other friend for years—but it’s not something he’s well versed in) 

Ben stands up and runs his fingers over the presents. Trent hadn’t asked for anything more than a bunch of new video games (and a bong, but he was pretty sure he couldn’t swing that) but when it came to everyone else, it was a toss up. 

Before he can regret his choices, though, the doorbell rings. 

He furrows his brows and swivels around to stare out his bedroom door, as if that’s going to show him who’s at the front door. 

After a moment of standing in paralyzed shock, Ben shakes himself out of his stupor and pads downstairs, still in his pjs. 

He’s not quite sure what he’s expecting when he opens the door, but it’s certainly not to see Devi standing there, bouncing up and down on her feet. 

“David?” he says. “What are you doing here?” 

Devi steps forward and nearly slams him in the chest with a box. “Here.” 

Ben grapples to catch it. “Geez, give a guy a warning, would ya?” he grumbles. 

She smacks him in the head lightly. “Ungrateful asshole,” she mutters. 

Ben finally looks down on the box clutched in his hands. “What is this?” 

She bites her lip, looking nervous, and for the first time, Ben lets himself look at her, to really drink her in. She’s wearing an oversized t-shirt, cardigan over it, leggings. She doesn’t  _ look _ fancy, even if she’s beautiful, as always. 

“Devi?” he asks, gently shaking the box. Something inside rattles slightly. “What is this?” 

Devi looks down at the floor and kicks the tile with her sneaker. “I got you a present,” she mumbles. 

Ben blinks at her in shock, before he feels a small smirk cross his face. “Sorry, say that again? I’m not quite sure I caught you the first time.” 

“I hate your fucking guts.” 

“Mm,” he hums. “I don’t think you do, if you got me a  _ present.” _

Oh, he’s well aware he’s being an insufferable jackass right now, but, one, Devi likes it, and two, he thinks he’s entitled to it, just a little bit. He’s used to massive presents, pathetic attempts from his parents to make up for not being there for him, or nothing at all. The extremes of gift giving. 

But this small box Devi’s given him means more than anything else.

His eyes flicker up to meet her own. “Can I open it?” 

She scoffs, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “You can do whatever the fuck you want, Gross.” Still, her eyes flicker down to his hands as he gently turns the box over in his hand. 

There’s no wrapping on it, just a top and bottom, and it’s embossed with a symbol he only vaguely recognizes. Before he stares at it for too long and goes insane trying to figure out where it’s from, he lifts the top off the box, to find a pen resting inside of it. 

Ben blinks in shock. “You—you got me this?”

She kicks the floor again, refusing to look him in the eyes. “I saw it in the store.” 

He raises an eyebrow. “You did?” 

“It’s true! I was out shopping for Eleanor and Fabiola, and I passed the stationary store in the mall, and I remembered you mentioning you wanted this, and so I just—went in to see if they had one.” 

Unbidden, his mouth curls up in a smile, and he plucks the fountain pen out of the box. “Well,” he says, smirking. “It’s not Montblanc, but I suppose it’ll have to do.” 

Devi smiles. “Not even you are willing to drop over $1000 on a Montblanc fountain pen to risk it getting lost in college.” 

Ben turns the pen around in his hands, a relatively inexpensive purchase, for him, and for a fountain pen, but meaningful, nonetheless. He’d mentioned to Devi, once, during lunch, that this was the ideal pen for him, a good one, but not ridiculously expensive. He just—can’t believe she remembered. 

He looks back up at her, and bites his cheek to force down the urge to kiss her. “Thanks,” he murmurs. 

He reaches a hand out and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, fingers lingering on the curve of her cheek for perhaps a moment too long. He can’t explain it, why he knows he can’t kiss her right now. 

If he starts, he might never stop. 

(the feelings he has for devi—they are like a planet, circling around the sun. sometimes, they wink into the sky, bright, impossible to miss, something that draws his eye. they announce themselves and captivate him. and then sometimes they vanish, fading back into the blackness of the void, so completely he wonders if they’d ever been there at all. but they always come back, always circle back in orbit) 

Devi twists her hands around themselves and swallows, nodding. “Y—yeah,” she stammers. “Of course.” 

His mouth lifts up in a smile as he looks at her. “Very fancy outfit you’ve got.” 

She rolls her eyes. “Shut up. I just threw on whatever I had and came over.” 

Ben places the pen back in the box and closes it. “What are your plans for today anyways?” 

Devi shrugs. “Not much. We don’t do much for Christmas besides decorating and exchanging presents.” 

“Aren’t you Hindu?” 

She shoots him a wry look. “Christmas is so commercialized, plenty of Indians celebrate it. I’m  _ sure _ Christians had the “Santa Baby” routine from  _ Mean Girls, _ in mind when they started it.” 

Ben bites back a smile. “Fair enough.” 

He remembers the present he has for her, upstairs, and his hands tighten around the box. “Uh, wait here, for a second. Would you?” 

“Leaving me in your house where your parents could find me at any moment?” 

He freezes, looks down at the box in his hands. “It’s just me, right now.” He doesn’t want to see the look of pity that will inevitably flash over Devi’s face, so he clears his throat and turns away from her, waving a hand towards the sitting area. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be right down.” 

Ben basically runs up to his room, setting the pen down on his desk. Just for a moment, he takes it out, looks at it again. 

She’d  _ remembered. _ He can’t think of the last time someone had remembered something for him. 

(he can, actually, and unsurprisingly, it’s devi, again, handing him a box of california brittle at his sixteenth birthday, and moments before he’d been a complete idiot and made a fool out of himself) 

He pulls himself out of memories that he doesn’t want to linger in, and grabs the large bag, holding Devi’s present. 

When he comes down the stairs, he finds that she’s taken the “make yourself comfortable” directive truly to heart, sprawled out on his couch, underneath a blanket, staring at his TV.

(for a second, it’s reminiscent of sophomore year, when she would spend hours on his couch, watching tv and pelting him with popcorn, when she would curl up underneath his blankets like she belonged there, and late at night, he sometimes wonders what would have happened if he had been a little braver and pulled her—) 

“You know, you could just not steal my blanket,” he says. “Or, and here’s a thought, sit down and wait like a normal person.” 

Devi snorts, switching the channel. “What’s the fun in that?” Her eyes fall to the bag in his hands. “What’s that?” 

He holds it out to her. “I, uh, I got you something as well.” 

She scrambles up on the couch, sitting up straight, and looks at him, softly. “Ben.” 

He rubs the back of his neck, sitting down on the ottoman opposite her. “I got ones for Eleanor and Fabiola too. I’m not—not really sure how to do this friend thing, to be honest.” 

She reaches out and touches his arm, for a moment. “You’re not too bad at it, if you got them Christmas presents.” Her eyes sparkle. “Aren’t you Jewish?” 

He rolls his eyes. “I just—had an excuse to get them something and I took it.” 

Devi purses her lips, narrowing her eyes at him. 

“What?” 

“Nothing,” she says, shaking her head. The ghost of a smile appears on her lips, though, as she looks at him. 

He feels a bit uneasy, with her gaze on his, and gestures to the bag. “Open it.” 

Devi shoots him a grin and opens the bag, digging through the tissue paper to pull out two records. Her brow furrows as she looks at them. “You got me vinyls?” 

He nods. “Yeah. I don’t know, I thought you’d like them. You’re always talking about how much you like music.” 

Ben smooths his hand over the vinyls, one of which is a MARINA one, of course, and the other of which is a copy of  _ Rumours. _

“Why did you get me a Fleetwood Mac album?” she asks, raising her eyebrow. 

“This isn’t just any Fleetwood Mac album, David,” he sighs. “This is  _ the _ Fleetwood Mac album.” 

“I know, Ben. I’ve listened to  _ Rumours _ before,” she deadpans. “But why did you give it to me?” 

“Maybe to foster an appreciation for music that you are so clearly lacking,” he smirks. 

She smacks him lightly on the shoulder. “How am I even supposed to listen to these? I don’t have a record player.” 

Ben pinches his nose. “Yeah, and Spotify exists, David. It’s not about using them to listen, it’s about the aesthetic. Have some fucking class.” 

Devi whacks him fully then, punching him in the arm. “Ow! God, why are you so violent all the time?” 

“You just bring out the best in me,” she says, disturbingly saccharine. She drops the vinyls back into the bag, and looks at him. “But, seriously, thank you, Ben. Did it take you a long time to find these?” 

He moves from the ottoman to the couch, sitting a few feet away from her and leaning against it. “Nah. You know me. My dad’s got connections,” he winks. 

She stares at him. 

“No, I just went to the record store and picked them out,” he confesses. 

Devi laughs. “You’re weirdly sweet, sometimes, Gross. It’s strange. I don’t know if I like it.” 

Ben smiles. “Well, I don’t want to take up too much of your time, so, you can get going right now.” 

Devi frowns. “Do you want me to leave?” 

“Don’t  _ you _ want to?” 

She sighs, picking at the blanket. “Stop that,” he says, laying his hand over hers. “It’s expensive.” 

“I take it back. You’re never sweet. You’re always just a goddamn asshole.” 

“We knew that. But, don’t you have plans for today?” 

Devi frowns. “No? Not really. All the decorations are up, my mother is on call at the hospital for today, and I don’t really wanna see Kamala and Prashant being disgustingly cute and married in front of me.” 

“They’re still in the honeymoon stages?” he says wryly.

“They’ve been married for like, eight fucking months!” she says, throwing her hands up in the air. “Seriously! And they’re  _ still _ smoochy.” 

“What about Eleanor and Fabiola?” 

Devi groans. “They’ve got other stuff going on. Plus, you’re not  _ always _ my last choice. Can’t I just stay here?” 

His heart stops, and he stares at her in shock. “You want to—to stay here?” 

Devi blushes. “What? Why do you make it sound like that?” 

“Like what?” he says, a bit faintly. 

“Like it’s an improbability.” 

“I don’t mean to.” 

Devi sighs, settling back against the couch. She glances over at him. “I didn’t want you to be alone, Ben.” 

He stiffens. “So, what is this, a pity invite?” 

Her mouth drops open, and she moves lightning fast, grabbing a pillow and smacking him straight in the face with it. “I’m beginning to feel quite battered by you, David,” he groans, shoving the pillow out of his face. 

“Let’s get something straight, Gross,” Devi snaps. “I’m here because I want to be here. Not because I feel pity for you, but because you’re my fucking friend, and I don’t think that my friends deserve to be alone on Christmas.” 

“It’s December 23rd.” 

“Oh my  _ god. _ This is the last time I do something nice for you, ever,” she grumbles, flopping down on the couch and pulling the blanket back up over herself. 

Ben waits for her to move, but she doesn’t, eyes fixed on the TV. “You’re still staying?” 

Her eyes don’t stray from the TV, but her mouth quirks up in a smile. “Put a Christmas movie on, Gross. Get in the holiday spirit.” 

He pushes himself off the couch and holds out his hand. “Give me.” 

Devi glances up at him. “What?” 

“Give me the blanket back.” 

She clutches it closer, scowling. “I want it.” 

“You’ve already commandeered the couch, David. You can’t have my blanket too.” 

Devi shoots her leg out and kicks him. “Get the fuck away from me, Gross, and get  _ Elf. _ I want this blanket. It’s soft.” 

“Of course it’s soft. It’s made from alpaca fur.” 

“Go!” 

Ben raises his hands in surrender. “Ok, ok.” Running up to his room, he grabs his phone and another blanket, not nearly as soft as the one Devi has, before pausing in front of his closet, debating whether or not to change. He  _ is _ really comfortable, and he doesn’t feel like spending the whole day wearing jeans if he’s just going to be sitting on the couch watching movies. 

Deciding against it, he heads back downstairs, where he finds Devi, still in the same position as when he had left her, but now munching on a bowl of popcorn. 

“It’s 10 o’clock, David,” he says. 

“Whenever you watch a move, you gotta have popcorn. Now, put it on.” 

“I’ve never seen this movie,” he says easily, thumb flicking over his phone screen as he flips through the controls to make it act like a TV remote. 

Devi gasps. “What? How have you not seen this movie? It’s iconic!” 

“Again, I am  _ Jewish. _ We celebrate Hanukkah.” 

“Well, then, you’re getting a crash course in Christmas movies today,” she says. Ben settles himself on the couch, just a bit further away from her, staring longingly at his alpaca blanket. 

Devi notices the look on her face and groans. “Ugh, fine.” 

He blinks, pulling his eyes from the blanket up to her. “What?” 

Devi lifts the blanket up. “It’s huge. We can share.” 

(the rational, logical part of ben’s brain reminds himself that devi has done this before with her friends—except those friends were girls—and so this probably doesn’t mean as much to her, sharing a blanket with a friend while watching a movie. except it means a hell of a lot more to him, and he’s not sure how to process this) 

“Ben?” she asks, waving the blanket around a bit. “Offer’s gone in three seconds.” 

He snaps back to attention and grabs the end of the blanket she’s waving around in the air. “I can’t believe I’m sharing my own damn blanket with you, David,” he scowls, scooting closer to her. 

Devi hums as the opening credits flash across the screen. “It’s my blanket, now.” 

He leans against the couch and reaches over to steal some popcorn out of her bowl, ignoring the offended gasp she lets out. “This is boring,” he drawls. 

“We’re literally 32 seconds in.” 

“Still boring.” 

Devi reaches over and shoves some popcorn into his mouth. “Shut the fuck up and watch the movie.” 

Ben rolls his eyes, but obeys her, and, well, he hates to admit it, but she’s right. The movie  _ does _ get better after a bit, and at times, it’s even really funny. 

What’s more captivating than the movie, though, is her. The way she smiles and laughs at the  _ exact _ wrong parts, the way she shuffles closer to him. He’s pretty sure his heart might stop when she lays her head on his shoulder, about halfway through, and he doesn’t move the slightest bit, worried that if he does, she’ll realize what she’s done, and jerk away from him. 

When they finish, he grabs his phone, glancing over at her. “Do you want lunch?” 

Devi nods, and they put in an order to Olive Garden, for 2, since both of them are full with popcorn, because there was no way that she wasn’t going to pay for her half and that was the only place she could afford that he was willing to eat at. 

“So,” she says, eyes flicking back to the screen. “What’s up next?” 

“Uh, what’s that movie all the white people like?” 

“You’re white.” 

“Yeah, but I’m not Christian. The one with the dead guy? And the moon?” 

_ “It’s a Wonderful Life?” _

He snaps his fingers. “Yeah, that one. Have you ever seen it?” 

Devi shakes her head. “No, I haven’t.” 

He grins. “Me neither.” 

Ben queues up the movie next, and—well, it’s a good movie. Easy for him to lose himself in, even if the smell of jasmine and the sound of Devi’s breathing is all he can  _ really  _ focus on right now. 

“Do you think that would really be a thing?” she murmurs. She slides a hand across his stomach and tucks herself more securely into his side, cheek pressing against his chest. 

“The movie?” 

“Yeah,” she whispers, nodding. Her eyes are still fixed on the screen. “Do you think something like that is plausible?” 

Ben purses his lips. “I mean, it already is.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Well, nothing  _ would _ be the same if every person was not exactly where they needed to be, at a specific time. I don’t know if the changes would be as linear and easily shown as the ones we see in the movie, and I don’t know if they would happen so quickly, and be so massive, but there would be changes. Like, think of it like this. If I had stopped to switch my sneakers on the morning that you asked to move in with me, I would have missed you at your locker, and you wouldn’t have asked.” 

She’s dead silent then, and Ben worries he’s made a mistake in bringing up sophomore year, bringing up a time neither of them really like to confront, one they dance around the edges of. 

Devi sighs then, fingers tightening around his waist. “Well, I still think this movie is a bit idealistic.” 

Ben wrinkles his nose. “Agreed, but why?” 

“Cause who loves someone so much they would lasso the moon for them? That’s ridiculous, and, not to mention, scientifically impossible.” 

He laughs. “Of course you would be pissed off that a romantic gesture wasn’t scientifically accurate.” 

“I like romance, Gross. I’m not an idiot.” 

He smirks. “Could have fooled me.” 

“Don’t even pretend you weren’t thinking the same thing.” 

He clutches her a little closer, relaxing further back into the cushions of the couch. “I was,” he admits, and she laughs, the sound going right to his heart.

The rest of the movie passes relatively quietly, and Ben’s fixed on the plotline, so much so that he doesn’t notice Devi’s fallen completely silent. 

“What do you think about the townspeople essentially bailing George out?” he asks. 

When he gets no response, he glances down. “Devi?” 

She’s fast asleep on top of him, nose pressed into his sternum, almost painfully, but he can’t bear to make himself move. Her hair tickles his nose, and he gently raises his free hand—the one not crushed between their bodies—to brush her hair away so he can breathe without waking her up by sneezing. 

Devi exhales against his chest, eyes fluttering, and he strokes his hand down her hair, turning his attention back to the movie and letting her sleep. She’s beautiful, peaceful, in sleep, and he likes Devi when she’s vivacious and fierce, he does, but there’s a peaceful tranquility about her when she falls asleep with him he finds addictive as well. 

(there are a million and one things about devi he finds addictive, and he’s well aware that what he has with her, this limbo of friendship and something more—it’s not healthy. it’s not, and, well, he should probably stop, end things and draw very clear lines. but his judgement when it comes to devi is legendarily shitty, and he can’t help himself when it comes to her; fighting, hooking up, hanging out. he wants to hate himself for it, but he can’t, because it’s her)

The movie ends, and Ben, not wanting to wake her up, reaches for his phone to mess around on it while he waits for lunch to arrive. He doesn’t have to wait long, though, the notification popping up on the screen to indicate that it’s here. 

Ben winces, gently trying to extricate himself from her grasp without waking her up. He fails, and she stirs sleepily. “No,” she murmurs, clutching at him, trying to pull him back down.

“Devi,” he whispers. “I gotta go get our food.” 

Devi doesn’t even open her eyes as she pouts, shaking her head. “No,” she says stubbornly. “Stay.” 

Ben bites back a smile and gently lifts her off of him, letting her lie down on the couch in the exact space where he’s been sitting. She mumbles protests, but is too sleepy to physically fight back, letting him move her. “I’ll be right back, Devi.” 

“Promise?” 

“I promise.” 

Ben pays the guy—he’s not letting Devi cover it, he’s a dick, but he can be a gentleman at times—and brings the food back into the house. After setting it down on the kitchen counter, he walks back to the couch and crouches down in front of it. 

“Devi,” he says, brushing back a strand of hair. 

She stirs, but doesn’t open her eyes. “Lunch is here. Do you wanna eat?” 

Devi groans, eyes finally fluttering open. “Yeah,” she breathes. She rubs at her hands with her eyes as she sits up, the cardigan rumpled. 

“You can go freshen up,” he says, jerking his thumb towards the bathroom. “I’ll get lunch ready.” 

Devi nods and slides off the couch, crumpling the blanket behind her. Ben folds it neatly, and then sets lunch out. He’s looking in the kitchen for the forks when Devi comes out, hands stuffed in the pockets of her cardigan. 

“Hey,” he greets her. “You had the pasta, right?” 

She nods, and he slides the plate and a fork over to her. 

“You took the food out of the packaging and put it on a plate?” she smirks, sliding into her seat and raising an eyebrow. “Fancy.” 

Ben grins. “I’ll add it to my resume: excellent at redistributing assets in a more appealing manner.” 

Devi rolls her eyes and smacks his arm, but she grabs the fork and looks down at her plate. 

He turns around to get his own food when she clears her throat. “Ben. Can I ask you something?” 

“No, David, I don’t know how I was born this handsome,” he quips, still focused on his food. “Genetics, probably.” 

He can practically  _ hear _ Devi rolling her eyes. “Seriously?” 

Ben finally faces her once more, setting down his knife. “Yeah. Yeah, of course.” 

She bites her lip, reaching into her cardigan pocket and pulling something out, tossing it on the table. “Why do you still have this?” 

Ben stares at what she’s just tossed onto the table. 

It’s her bracelet. The gold one, with an aquamarine gemstone. The bracelet she left at his house way, way back in sophomore year, the one he had looked at nearly every day for half the year until seeing it had hurt too much and he’d shoved it away, into some corner of some room, never to be touched again. 

“Where—” he clears his throat, “where did you get that?” 

“I was looking for a spare hair tie in the bathroom and I found it,” she says quietly. “That’s from  _ two years ago, _ Ben. Why do you still have it?” 

He stabs his fork into his chicken and refuses to meet her in the eyes. “I forgot I had it, to be honest. I found it, like, two days after you had picked up all your stuff and left, and I just kept forgetting to get it for you.” 

Devi’s face softens, but he can tell she doesn’t believe him. “Ben, you saw me every day. I know you’re dumb, but, seriously? You forgot that many times?” 

(what is he supposed to say? no, i didn’t give you your bracelet back because it was a reminder that you were really here, that you were in my life and that i didn’t dream up everything that happened between us for that week, that i wasn’t alone in my house for the first time in fucking forever, that you breathed life back into me and made me feel alive and happy in my own home and that i looked at it and ached for you and didn’t know why and now i think it’s because—) 

“I guess I did,” he says, instead of all of that. 

Devi reaches her hand out and gently touches his own, not wrapping her fingers around his, but resting them on the back of his hand, so soft he can barely even tell they’re there. “You can trust me, Ben.” 

He eyes her. Normally, finding something like this would scare her, would send her running in the opposite direction. Looking at her, a bit closer, he can see the skittish glint in her eyes, the way her hand shakes, ever so slightly. 

But she’s not running. For the first time, she’s not running, and, with a jolt of clarity, he realizes she is not running for  _ him. _ To help him. 

It’s this that prompts him to open up and say what he does. 

“I didn’t give it back to you because I was lonely and you were a friend.” 

Shock flits over Devi’s face. “What?” she breathes. 

Ben drags his hand over his face, hardly daring to believe he just admitted that. “I don’t know,” he says softly. “I just—having you here was strange, you know? I wasn’t used to it, having another person besides Patty in the house.” 

A shadow crosses Devi’s face. “You regretted asking me?” 

He shakes his head. “Not even for a little bit. I liked it. I liked having another person to talk to in the mornings. Did you know that week was the first in years I didn’t eat a single meal alone?” 

“Oh, Ben.” 

He sighs. “I did forget it existed, Devi. I did. I haven’t seen it since like, April of sophomore year. But I also liked having it, I’m not going to lie. You were a friend when I needed one. I appreciate that.” 

Devi swallows dryly. “I—I didn’t know that.” 

“Why would you? It’s not like we talked.” 

She’s shaking her head. “I never even said thank you.” 

Now Ben looks at her in shock. He’s just admitted to basically obsessing over her and hoarding her stuff away for two years, like a fucking weirdo, unable to leave her alone, and she’s worried she never said  _ thank you? _ What the hell for? 

“What for?” 

Devi gapes at him. “What—what do you mean, what for? You literally let me live in your house for a whole ass week!” 

“Yeah. It wasn’t that big of a deal.” 

Devi flails her arms around, seemingly at a loss for words. “Not a big deal? What—what the fuck, Ben? Is a kidney donation just a small cut? Is paying for college tuition a small donation? I don’t—” 

“Those are extreme examples, David. I let you crash in my massive house for a fucking week. We go to the same goddamn school, for christ’s sake. It wasn’t that big of a deal.”

Devi drops her fork on the counter with a clatter, coming around it to stop in front of him. She places her hands on his cheeks, looking at him right in the eyes. “It was a big deal to  _ me, _ Ben. I’ll never be able to repay you for that.” 

(idly, he wonders why they have not mentioned malibu, but he doesn’t push it. doesn’t shatter this weird limbo they have found) 

“You don’t ever have to.”

“Ben,” Devi says, her voice strong. “You did so much for me. I won’t ever be able to repay you, but please, let me thank you.” 

“Devi—” he starts. 

“Please, Ben,” she says, her voice shaking. “I need to say this.” 

He stops, because when Devi needs something, his first instinct has always been to give it to her. 

She takes a deep breath. “Thank you. For taking me in. I didn’t have anyone else, and even after everything, you still did that for me. Thank you.” 

He reaches up, curls his hand around her wrists. “You’re a friend, Devi,” he says softly. “I’d do anything for you.” 

(and, this is true. ben would do anything for his friends, would sacrifice whatever was necessary to make them happen—but devi is the friend he would do  _ anything _ for. whatever she needed, whatever in the world. and it’s probably unhealthy—it’s definitely unhealthy—but it’s how it is) 

She pulls her hands from his face and he lets her wrists go, as she walks back to her side of the kitchen counter. Devi faces him, sliding the bracelet into her pocket as she says, “You deserve better, Ben.”

He turns back to his food, eating quietly as she stabs her pasta with a bit more force than necessary. “What do you mean?” 

“I mean, you shouldn’t have to eat dinner alone. You shouldn’t have to spend the holidays alone cause your parents are fucking assholes,” she mutters. 

“Devi,” he says, sharp. “Don’t say that.” 

She whips her head up, glaring at him. “What, Ben? Don’t say what, the  _ truth? _ Cause I’m not afraid of you, or them. I’ll say it again. They’re assholes.” 

“They’re my parents, Devi. They got me all of this.” 

“And you deserve more!” she explodes. “You deserve to have dinners with them and come home to parents who give a shit about you and spend your birthday with you. You deserve to have everything and it makes me so fucking mad you can’t see that!” 

He grips his fork tighter, his appetite suddenly non-existent. “It’s how it’s always been, Devi.” 

Her eyes lock with his as she slams her hands down on the table, crackling with the same energy he thinks lightning bolts possess. “That doesn’t make it any more right.” 

Ben pushes back from the counter and frowns, crossing his arms. “Why do you care so much about what they do?” 

“Because I care about you!” 

He swears the entire world falls silent as she says those words. 

“Do you mean that?”

“Do you not know how friendships work?” Devi flinches as soon as she says the words, stepping closer to him. “I’m sorry. That was mean.” 

(he wants to run away from her and to her at the same time, away from this conversation and these facts he has been avoiding his whole life—the lingering feeling of doubt that maybe—maybe his parents weren’t enough—that he never let himself feel, because he has all of this, so why the  _ fuck _ should he want more?) 

“Ben,” Devi says. “Ben, why can’t you see that you deserve so much  _ better?” _

He’s glad for the space between them, the stone slab that separates the two of them because he doesn’t want her to see how badly those words cut into him. Better. Why? Why does he deserve better?

“I don’t see why.” 

Devi’s face falls. “You really don’t?” 

“My parents and I—we’re not a family, like you guys are, Devi. I love them, but—they would rather do anything other than spend time with me. They’re not the first ones. They won’t be the last. And it makes sense. I know I’m not the—easiest person to be around.” 

“You’re such a fucking idiot,” she sighs. 

He raises his head up slowly. “What?” 

“I said, you’re such a fucking idiot. Sometimes I literally want to kill you.” 

“None of that is new language you’ve said to me, David,” he deadpans. “Is this going somewhere?” 

“I just—” she breaks off, pinching her nose. “I wish you could see that your parents are lucky to have someone like you as their kid.” 

This isn’t getting them anywhere, this tap and dance around what they really mean. And Ben knows that direct communication with them sucks, but at least it’s never been  _ lies. _ What they’ve said to each other has always been honest. 

“What do you mean by that, Devi? Be honest.” 

“I mean it makes me furious that you just sit here and—and accept your shitty situation because that’s what you think you deserve.” 

“It must be,” he says, tiredly. “It happens so often.” 

Devi slams her hands down on the table again. “They ditched you during the holidays! You don’t deserve that!” she yells. 

Ben flinches back, the words stinging far more than he wants them to. 

She seems to realize she’s misstepped and sighs, letting the tension ease out of her shoulders. “They ditched you on the holidays, Ben.” Her voice cracks. “Why can’t you see you don’t deserve that?” 

“I don’t want your pity, Devi. My parents are who they’ve always been. I’m not going to try to change them. I’m grateful to them for everything they’ve done,” he snaps. He can’t take her talking about his mom and dad like this. 

(because—because she’s not wrong, but at the end of the day they’re still his  _ parents, _ his mother and father, the people who have always, always, given him everything. everything he could ever ask for. even if it’s not what he wanted)

“Ben, I don’t  _ care _ if your parents have paid for everything and if they have given you everything in the world. What do you  _ want?” _

(no one has ever asked him this. no one has ever asked him what he wants, and he supposes it is because he already  _ has _ everything a guy could want—money, cars, fuck, he’s sleeping with a really hot girl and there’s no strings attached—by all means, he’s got it. but it’s never been what he  _ wants. _ he just wants someone to spend time with) 

“I just want them to want to spend time with me,” he says quietly. He grips the countertop, forcefully, hard enough so that he doesn’t succumb to the desire to start crying. 

Devi bolts around the kitchen table and pulls him into a hug.

She’s never—she’s never hugged him before, and there is an intimacy here that is absent in their kisses, holding someone so close you can feel your heartbeats press against one another. Her body is pressed flush against his and he thinks if he tried hard enough, he could hear her pulse. He’s shocked for a moment before he crushes her to him, burying his nose in her hair and breathing her in. She’s here. She  _ chose _ to be here. 

“I wish I could fix that for you,” she murmurs. “I’m sorry I can’t.” 

“You can,” he says. “Just—be my friend? That’s all I want.” 

Devi buries her face in his shoulder, and he’s worried he’s holding her so tight she can’t breathe, but he doesn’t think he’s capable of letting her go. At least, not for a while. 

“I think I can swing that,” she murmurs. “I  _ am _ the smart one.” 

Ben laughs a wet laugh, blinking back tears and trying to focus only on her. 

(for the first time in forever, the endless ache in his heart, the black hole that has been there ever since he was six years old and his father was absent at his spelling bee, that has only grown in the wake of malibu, feels a little like it is starting to heal. momentarily, it doesn’t hurt as much, and he feels like he is a little less alone. 

(the thing about devi is that being apart from her makes him feel more alone than ever, and in the wake of—of malibu the loneliness had been even worse because he knew what it was like to have a life with her in it, truely in  _ it, _ to share a life with them and what she felt like in his arm—) 

but being with devi, it washes away all of the loneliness he feels. it is like the bright, bright sun, so overpowering it supersedes the blackness of the universe to shine the darkness away. it is his saving grace.  _ she _ is his saving grace)

“Ok,” Devi says, drawing back. “Enough sadness for today. That’s not allowed.” 

She steps back and goes back around to her side of the table. “We’re making today happy,” she says. 

“Uh, how?” 

“Christmas cookies.” 

The way Devi says it makes it sound like they’re storming the beaches of Normandy instead of measuring out tablespoons of cinnamon, sugar, and flour, and it’s so endearing he has to bite back a stupid smile. 

“I’m sorry, did you say Christmas cookies?” 

Devi nods, walking around him to drop her plate into the sink and planting her hands on her hips. “We have a mission objective, Gross, and I don’t think that you want to fail in our endeavor, do you?” 

Ben sets his plate down next to hers, and turns back, trying not to grin too broadly. “Oh, of course not, David. Can’t fail in this. Plus, with the two of us working together, who knows what we could accomplish?” 

“Oh, please,” Devi laughs. “You think we’re working together on this? Oh, no, Gross. It’s a competition.” 

He quirks an eyebrow, intrigued. “Go on.” 

“Whoever makes the better tasting Christmas cookies wins,” she says simply. 

“Wins what?” 

“Bragging rights.” 

“That’s it? And who’s going to be the judge?” 

Devi shrugs. “We can leave them out for Patty and have her blind taste them. Send me a video when she does. You wouldn’t dream of cheating me, would you, Gross?” she smirks, flipping her hair over her shoulder. 

“I don’t need to stoop to cheating to beat you, David.” 

She grins, sharp, lethal, almost like a snake. “Game on.” 

* * *

It takes them about ten minutes to clear the table and pull up a relatively simple recipe for Christmas cookies up on the internet, and then another ten minutes to get through all of the ingredients and find them in his kitchen. 

“So,” Ben says, pushing up his shirt-sleeves. “Ready to go, David?” 

Devi smirks over at him, standing to his right. She’s got her own set of ingredients laid out in front of her. “Don’t try to keep up.” 

“The only thing you’ll be seeing is my dust, David,” he crows. 

He’s always loved competing with Devi, neck and neck for being the best, and just because they’ve started hooking up, that hasn’t decreased any less. In fact, if anything, it’s only gotten more intense. There’s a sharp gleam in her eyes, the kind that says she’s going to destroy him, and it doesn’t scare him in the slightest. 

It just makes him want to push himself to be better.

“Great British Baking Show count off queued up?” she quips.

“On your lead,” he smirks. 

She narrows her eyes at him. “Bake.” 

Quicker than he thought possible, Devi reaches out and snags her flour and opens it, and they’re off. 

For a few minutes, it’s total silence, a flurry of activity as Ben tries to accurately measure everything out as quickly as possible. His only saving grace is that Devi seems to be in the same boat as him, since neither of them are big cooks. “Budge over,” she mutters, and they move around the kitchen quickly. 

Ben’s reaching over for the cinnamon when he coughs suddenly, a giant cloud in his face. 

He stumbles back, and blinks, to find Devi staring at him with wide eyes, the open flour bag in her hands. “Oh no,” she whispers. 

“Sabotage, David?” he quips, trying his best to blink the faint amounts of flour out of his eyes. “You really need to do that?” 

“I wasn’t  _ trying _ to!” she defends. “I don’t need to sabotage you to win. My cookies are already way better than you!” 

Ben spares a glance at her wet and dry bowls. “You have flour and baking soda in one bowl and eggs in another,” he quips. 

She crosses her arms. “Still better.” 

Ben steps a bit closer to her, covertly grabbing his dry bowl, keeping her eyes fixed on his so she doesn’t notice. “I thought you would play fair, David. I had that much respect for you.” 

She rolls her eyes. “Don’t be such a drama queen, Ben.” 

Ben smiles. “I’m not. I just wanna get you back.” 

He pulls the dry ingredients out from behind his back and dumps the bowl over her head, covering her in flour and sugar. 

Devi shrieks, hands going to her face instantly to wipe the flour out of her eyes. “Ben!” 

He laughs. “Oh, that was worth it to see the look on your face.” 

Without even responding, Devi takes an egg from the carton and smashes it on his forehead, letting the yolk drip down his face slowly. He can feel bits of shell sticking to his face, and he blinks slowly. 

“It’s on,” Devi says, smirking. 

She ducks around him, grabbing the flour, and flinging the bag at him, while holding onto it. Ben finds himself slapped across the chest with a line of white, like a sash. 

“You’re gonna regret that!” he calls, and desperately looks around the room for something. He spots the carton of eggs and grabs a few. Across the kitchen counter, Devi’s eyes narrow at him.

“You’re a dead man if you even think about it, Gross.” 

Ben smirks, tossing the egg up and down in his hand, and then throws it. 

His aim, for once, proves to be true, and it catches Devi in the middle of her chest, exploding over her t-shirt, runny yellow yolk dripping to the floor. 

“You bastard!” 

“All’s fair in love and war, David!” 

“You’re getting it now,” she grits out, and stalks towards him. Ben clutches the egg in his hand a bit tighter, careful not to break it. 

Devi flings the bag of flour at his face, and he can tell it’s stuck to his face now, the benefit of the sticky egg yolk on it. 

“Low blow David, mixing the ingredients.” 

“What are you gonna do about it, Gross?” she crows, tossing flour streaked hair over her shoulder. Her lips curl up into a smug smile, and she still looks ridiculously confident and capable despite being covered in flour, sugar, and egg yolks. 

Ben grabs Devi’s dry bowl and tosses that on her shirt, letting it stick to the egg yolk there. “That,” he says, laughing. 

(he’s never had this much fun before, in his life. he can’t remember the last time he laughed like this, freely, without any inhibitions. sometimes it feels like he grew up far too early, a man stuck in a teenager’s body, but devi, devi makes him feel  _ free. _ she makes him feel like himself again, like a kid, and laughing with her is quite possibly the best thing in the world)

“Ben!”

He smirks, grabbing the baking soda. “Come on, David. I didn’t think you would give up  _ that _ easily.” 

“Oh, I don’t,” Devi grits out. And then, suddenly, Ben finds the entire bag of flour dumped on his head. 

“Fuck, Devi!” 

Devi cackles evilly. “Concede defeat, Gross! I have won! Admit it!” 

“Never,” he says. “Not in a million years.” 

He steps forward, and Devi drops the empty bag of flour on the counter. “I won, Gross. Just admit I’m better.” 

Ben’s mouth curves up, watching as her breathing quickens. “No.” 

He darts after her then, and Devi screeches, jerking away from him. She just slips out of his grasp, whirling around to face him. 

“Slow on your feet, Gross?” 

“Oh, shut up.” 

Devi smirks at him. “Guess I really am better at everything.” 

“Are you?” he says, tilting his head. 

“You know I am.” 

Instead of justifying that with a response, Ben lunges forward again. Devi tries to run away, but he manages to wrap one hand around her waist, the other wrapping it around her wrists and pinning them behind her back as he pulls her flush against him. Her chest presses against his, her eyes wide blown as they look into his. She’s covered in flour, and he can feel the stickiness of her shirt through his own, her hair a tangled mess as it spills over her shoulders. 

“Got you,” he smirks. 

Devi struggles to get out of his grip. “No, you don’t,” she bites out, even though it’s  _ very _ clear he does.

Ben grips her tighter. “I think I do.” 

Devi tries to push herself away from him, but only succeeds in pushing herself closer, and she gasps. “Fuck, why are you so strong?” she whimpers.

His head spins at the unbidden praise falling from her lips, and suddenly, all he can think about is hauling her up to his room and getting those sticky clothes off of her. Maybe seeing how good that sugar tastes if he tries it off her lips. 

Devi’s breath hitches as she looks up into his eyes, which he’s sure are blown wide with lust. Ben swallows, eyes flicking down her face. He can have her, if he wants her. And he does. 

Just as he leans down to kiss her, though, Devi’s phone starts buzzing. 

He lets her go instantly, stepping back, and Devi darts away from the counter to grab her phone, swearing as it slips from her fingers. 

She picks up the phone, and Ben leans against the counter, trying to get himself under control. 

(no one has ever made him lose control like she has. there is something about her, something wild and untamed, like ocean hurricanes and desert storms, a certain immutable chaos. devi is like the law of entropy personified, chaos increasing wherever she goes. ben remembers reading that it would take billions upon billions of years for the universe to reach a point where entropy could no longer increase; heat death of the universe, it is called—but he thinks he is getting there far faster with devi than the rest of the universe)

Devi swallows as she pockets her phone, staying far away from him. For once, he’s glad. He’s not sure what he would do if she stepped any closer to him. “I have to go,” she murmurs. 

He nods. “I thought so. Do you—do you need a ride?” 

She looks down at herself. “I don’t want to sit in your car like this.” 

Ben’s hand shakes. “I can give you a change of clothes. I don’t care about your hair, at least.” 

Devi worries at her lip, contemplating his offer. Finally, she nods. “Yeah. That—that would be nice.” 

Ben ducks away from her and grabs a sweatshirt, t-shirt, and an old pair of sweatpants from his room, quickly taking the time to change out of his own messed up clothes. He doesn’t care about his hair either—at least, not right now.

Rushing back downstairs, he finds Devi bouncing on the balls of her feet and silently hands her the clothes. 

As she vanishes to change, Ben runs his hand over his face and looks over at the mess they’ve made. Despite—whatever the fuck that just happened, it still brings a smile to his face. It was fun, pure, childish fun. He can’t remember the last time that had happened. 

“Ben?” 

He turns his head to look at her, and his stomach promptly drops out of his body at the sight of her, in his clothes. Even with giving her the smaller ones he had grown out of, she still swims in them, and for a second she looks almost  _ small, _ in a way Devi usually doesn’t. “Do you—have a bag?” 

She helplessly holds up the dirty clothes, and he snaps back into action. “Oh. Oh, yeah. I’m sorry.” 

Ben digs through the cabinets and hands her a plastic bag, and she drops her clothes in them, clearing her throat. “Can we go now? My mom’s going to freak if I’m home too late.” 

Ben nods and grabs his keys, and glances back to see Devi hesitate before wrapping her hand around the handle of the bag that holds her present. 

The car ride to her house is relatively quiet, and he wants to say it’s awkward, but it’s not. It’s just quiet. Sometimes, he doesn’t need to talk with Devi—they can just sit and be comfortable. 

He parks in front of her house, running a hand through his hair, grimacing when it comes back a bit sticky and covered in flour. “You good?” he asks, glancing over at her. 

Devi nods, giving him a soft smile. “I had fun today,” she says. 

“I did, too.” He taps his fingers on the steering wheel, trying to work up the courage to say the next words. “It was probably one of the best holidays I’ve ever had. Thank you.” 

The smile she gives him is blindingly bright, so much so it makes his heart hurt. “I’m just that special, Gross,” she quips, tossing her hair over her shoulder. 

Ben smirks. “You wish.” 

Devi shakes her head and reaches for the zipper on the sweatshirt, tugging it off. “Here,” she says, tossing it at him. “I don’t need it from here to the door, and I want to give you these back as soon as possible. 

Before he can tell her it’s fine if she keeps it, she’s already out the door, her hand curling around the edge of the car door. “Thanks for the presents, Ben. And, uh, the food fight. It was fun.” 

Devi slams the door shut and sets off towards her house, and Ben watches her go, willing her to look back. 

(for some reason, it is always him who is watching her go, who is watching her leave, and he wonders if it is terrible that some part of him is used to it more than anything, that he expects her to leave. today is the first time that she has stayed. he reminds himself not to get used to it)

It’s the only thought running through his mind as he drives back home, that he cannot, will not, get too attached to her staying. He’s already in too deep, way, way in too deep. 

Ben parks his car and resists the urge to groan when he sees the mess that the kitchen is, but he resolves to clean it up quickly. He made the mess. He’s not leaving it up to anyone else. 

He showers and heads downstairs, sweeping the floor and wiping up the rest of the kitchen counter. It takes him a few hours, but, finally, he finishes, and the kitchen is as spotless as ever. 

He turns around to place the last few bowls in the dishwasher when he spots it. 

Devi’s bracelet, next to the coffee machine. 

He picks it up, the gold filigree shining in the light, blue-green gemstone winking at him as he turns it around, and around in his hand. There’s absolutely no way she’s missed it. He’d watched her put it into the pocket of her cardigan. She can’t have left it behind again. 

Maybe it wasn’t an accident. 

The thought is too dangerous to entertain—for him, at least—but it’s a comforting one. It’s one he wants to wrap around his shoulders and sink into, one he wishes were true. 

It’s not, but he’s got a penchant for hoping impossible things might happen. 

He turns out the lights downstairs and goes up to his room, setting the bracelet on his dresser, next to the box holding the fountain pen. 

Yeah. A good day. 

* * *

Devi resists the urge to slump back against her front door as soon as she shuts it, completely exhausted. 

Not only is she still covered in flour and her hair is sticky, but she does  _ not _ want her mother finding her like this. 

The thought spurs her into action, and she dashes up into her room before anyone can see her, only breathing a sigh of relief when the door shuts behind her. 

Devi tosses the bag with her dirty clothes and the present Ben had gotten her onto her bed before ducking into the bathroom and taking an entirely too long shower to rid herself of the gunk on her body. As she washes her hair, she can’t help but smile. 

Ben hadn’t ever laughed like that before, free and unbound. It had set something aflight in her chest, like a colossal flock of sparrows taking off into the sky at the same time, a whirling mass of starlings dipping and soaring through the air. 

She manages to pull herself together and not lose herself too deeply in memories of the day they had, stepping into comfortable pj shorts and a t-shirt before going back to her room.

She runs her hand over Ben’s shirt as she picks up his clothes to toss them in the laundry hamper, biting her lip. 

No. She’s being ridiculous. 

Devi tosses his clothes in her hamper and braids her hair back, keeping it out of her face. Sitting cross-legged on the bed, she finally opens the bag that Ben had given her for the first time since she was at his place. 

The vinyls aren’t in perfect condition, like she expected, and she likes that. Likes them a little beat up and a little loved. Devi runs her hand over the Fleetwood Mac one and smiles to herself, a little bit. 

She pulls both of the vinyls out of the tissue in the bag and props them up on her bookshelf, carefully arranging them so they can be seen. 

When Devi goes back to her bed, picking up the bag to fold it and tuck it away, she frowns when she’s unable to fold it, something still in the bag preventing her from doing so. 

Turning it upside down, tissue paper and something else tumbles out. Devi tosses aside the tissue paper until she finds the object, her hand wrapping around a glass bottle. 

Devi turns it around in her hand and nearly chokes when she sees what it is. 

A bottle of concealer. 

Fucking asshole, she’s going to kill him. 

Her face erupts on fire as she recalls a conversation they had, about two weeks ago. 

_ “Ben,” she mutters. “You have got to stop with the hickeys.” _

_ He raises his head from where he’s sucking one into her neck. “Why?” he pouts.  _

_ “Cause full coverage concealer is expensive as hell, and you’re making me go through it way faster than I thought I would.” _

_ “I’ll buy you some more,” he breathes, dipping back down to drag his teeth over her pulse point, slowly.  _

_ Devi digs her fingers into his biceps even as her eyes flutter shut. “I don’t want charity, Gross. Just quit it with the hickeys.”  _

_ “That’s not happening,” he murmurs. “That’s the deal. Take it or leave.”  _

_ “You’re an insufferable jackass.”  _

_ He smirks. “Talk dirty to me, Devi.” _

That had been the end of that conversation, mostly because Ben had successfully distracted her from bringing it up again, and, frankly, she’d forgotten all about it until now. 

Devi grips the concealer tighter in her hand. Jackass. 

But she can’t deny the thrill it sends down her spine that he remembered, and put it in the bag for her, and clearly wanted her to discover it for herself, rather than announcing it was there. She can only imagine the smug smirk that would show up on his face if she had found it  _ while _ she was there. 

What was he planning? More importantly, could he do it to her now? 

Devi shakes her head. She literally  _ just _ left his place. She shouldn’t be feeling this way. 

Except—except they  _ hadn’t  _ done anything together. She hadn’t even kissed him. 

Oh, she’d been tempted to, so many times, most particularly when he’d had her pulled flush against him, but still. She’d spent time with Ben without hooking up. 

The thought rattles her so much she shoves the concealer in her vanity and flops on her bed, face first. 

They don’t hang out. 

Sure, they eat lunch together and do homework and head to his place, but if it’s not at school, there’s always some measure of sex involved. And even then, once at school. They don’t watch movies together and get lunch and enjoy each other’s company without the bite of passion there to dull her senses. That’s not how they work. 

But, apparently, it is, because that’s what they’d spent the day doing. And she’d  _ liked _ it. 

It was fun, just being with him.  _ He _ was fun. 

(what scares her the most, though, was that for most of the time she’d spent with him, hooking up was the furthest thing from her mind. it had only really occurred to her when she’d ended up pressed up against him, but up until then, she didn’t need anything else. she was perfectly content to sit with him and watch a movie, and that was  _ terrifying) _

Ok. Ok, maybe it’s not as scary as she’s making it out to be. They  _ are _ friends. Friends have movie nights and hang out. Friends spend time together. 

Of course, most friends don’t volley between making out and bickering over the scientific accuracy of romantic gestures in rom-coms. That’s...definitely something reserved for them. 

Devi grabs her pillow and slams it over her head, shoving her face further into the mattress of her bed. “This is fine,” she tells herself. “You have got this under control.” 

She turns her head and stares at the vinyls he’d gotten her, until her eyes feel heavy, and she falls asleep. 

* * *

She wakes up slowly, at first, dragging herself out of the depths of sleep. The bliss of the dream calls her to close her eyes again, but the rumbling of her stomach is overpowering. 

Then, Devi  _ really _ wakes up, and freaks the fuck out. 

She bolts upright in bed, head spinning. “Oh, no,” she breathes, clutching her head. “Oh, fuck no.” 

Of course, because the universe can’t even consider giving her something akin to a break for half a fucking second, there’s a knock on the door. 

“Devi?” Kamala says, opening the door. “Your mom wanted me to let you know dinner was going to be ready in fifteen minutes.” 

Devi can’t do anything but stare at her cousin in shock. 

“Devi?” Kamala says again, a worried look crossing her perfectly acne free face. “Are you alright?” 

She blinks at her cousin. “Huh?” 

“Ok,” Kamala says, sighing. She shuts Devi’s door behind her and locks it. “Clearly, we’re not getting anywhere. So.” She settles herself on Devi’s bed, cross-legged. “What’s going on?” 

It’s kind of hard to process anything right now other than what just happened, so all she does is continue to blink owlishly at Kamala, like a goddamn idiot. 

“Devi.” Kamala places her hand on Devi’s knee and squeezes it, gently. “You know you can trust me, right? With anything in the world. You can trust me. I’m here for you, I promise. Whatever you n—” 

“I had a dream about Ben,” Devi blurts out. 

(holy  _ fuck, _ why did she say that? she doesn’t want to think about this, doesn’t want to think about what she just dreamt of, what she woke up aching for, doesn’t want to think about the fact that the first thing she really saw when she opened her eyes was the color of his eyes, doesn’t want to think about why she remembers it so vividly—)

Kamala seems a bit stunned at first, perfectly glossed mouth dropping open in shock, before twisting into a small smirk.  _ “That _ kind of dream?” she says smugly. 

“What?” Devi shrieks. “No!” 

Kamala blinks, now truly shocked. “Oh. Ok then. What kind of dream?” 

Devi groans. “Kamala, I really, really don’t want to talk about this.  _ Please.” _

“Look, Devi.” Kamala gives her a soft smile, somehow managing to look concerned, beautiful, and angelic all at the same time. Devi kind of wants to hate her for it, except she can’t, not when she knows Kamala is coming from a place of pure kindness and love. “I know. But I just—I think it might help a bit. You know, it always helps to have someone to listen.” 

Devi swallows. 

“It—it wasn’t  _ that _ kind of dream,” she starts. She’s still not exactly sure how much she wants to tell her cousin. 

But she’s—she’s had those kinds of dreams with Ben before. And she knows how she feels when she wakes up after them, like she’s been lit on fire, her veins laced with gunpowder, Ben the catalyst to an explosion. Those dreams make her feel like she wants to tear her skin off and rip her heart out of her chest because it’s pounding too hard, too fast. 

Those dreams leave her breathless, gasping for more, but—but not in the way this dream has. 

This dream was bliss, pure bliss, and part of her wants to close her eyes and sink back into sleep so she might have the chance to revisit it again. 

If the other dreams she’d had about Ben were an inferno, then these dreams were a candle. 

And yet it leaves her aching in a far more visceral way, like she wants to rip her heart out of her chest, not because it’s beating too fast but because it hurts too much, because it feels like it’s bleeding. 

Kamala nods, just waiting for Devi to continue. “It—it wasn’t,” she insists. “I just—don’t even know what happened.” 

Her cousin reaches over and wraps her hand around Devi’s, ring shining in the light. “Take your time, Devi,” she says, quietly. “All the time you need.” 

Devi swallows. “He kissed me,” she says, quietly. “He kissed me and I don’t—” 

“Know how you feel about it?” 

“No, that’s the thing.” Devi takes a deep breath. “I liked it a lot.” 

This shouldn’t seem like big news. She does like kissing Ben, likes it more and more every time she does it, to be honest. But to  _ dream _ about him kissing her, like this, soft and precious and gentle, that’s a level of emotion she’s not sure she’s ready to confront. 

“You liked him kissing you?” 

“And then he held my hand and kissed my cheek and we played Scrabble together,” she says, the worlds all rushing out. Devi groans, burying her face in her hands. “It was  _ horrible.” _

She waits for Kamala to respond, and after several seconds in silence, peeks out between her fingers, a bit scared of what she is going to say. Kamala is just blinking at her, impeccably plucked eyebrows raised up in surprise. 

“What?” Devi whimpers. 

“No—nothing,” Kamala stammers. “I just never thought you would dream of something like that.” 

Devi’s hands fall away from her face, and she scowls. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” 

Kamala shrugs. “You just seem more like the type to go on adventurous dates, rather than staying at home together and playing board games.” She tilts her head then, dark eyes thoughtfully scanning Devi. “Actually, no, that does seem like something you would be interested in.” 

Devi crosses her arms. “What makes you say that?” 

Kamala shrugs. “Because you don’t do that with anyone you don’t trust. And you trust Ben.” 

Devi blinks at her in shock. “What?” 

Kamala laughs, smiling. “Devi, you can’t tell me you don’t know that already.” 

(but she doesn’t—and perhaps that is because it is never anything she has had to realize before. it has never been a question, when it comes to trusting ben. it has always been something she has simply  _ done, _ a part of her state of being. it is something that is coded in her dna, laced in the marrow of her bones, something she is supposed to do)

“I didn’t,” she says, voice small. 

“Of course you do,” Kamala says gently. “How could you not? After sophomore year and Malibu—” 

“What about Malibu?” Devi says, jerking back to attention. “What the fuck do you know about Malibu?” 

Kamala pulls back slightly, a little shocked. “God, Devi, calm down.” 

“What. Do. You. Know. About. Malibu?” Devi grits out, pulling her hand from Kamala’s grasp and digging her fingernails into her bedspread. “Tell me.” 

“I don’t—nothing, really,” Kamala stammers. “I just know that something between you guys changed.” 

“How?” 

Kamala reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind Devi’s ear, the motion oddly soothing, despite Devi digging her nails into her bedspread so hard she’s worried she’s going to tear through the fabric. “Devi, you don’t always have to hide. Letting yourself feel things is ok.” 

“Kamala,” Devi says, voice breaking. “What did you mean about Malibu?” 

“You stopped talking about him, Devi. You mentioned him every night, for the first month I was there. You talked about him constantly over the summer and how much you wanted to beat him, how excited you were to finally win. And then I saw you two together at dinner. I have never seen you like that, Devi. I have never seen you so challenged and so happy at the same time. When you needed someone, you went running to him.” 

(this isn’t true, it isn’t true, it isn’t true, her heart wants to say. that’s not what happened, that’s not how things played out—and yet, that’s  _ exactly _ what happened. when she needed someone to rely on, to be there for her, she went to ben. at the time, he might not have been her first choice, but now, now he is the only choice she will ever make) 

“And then Malibu happened and that stopped completely,” Kamala finishes. 

“You noticed?” Devi says quietly. 

“We all did. Devi,” Kamala scooches over and pulls her closer, letting Devi rest her head on her shoulder. “You were processing your grief, and so your mother and I didn’t want to push you. You stopped mentioning Ben. The few times we brought him up, you got weird. And you were jumpy, when you went to get your stuff.” 

Kamala draws her hand up and down Devi’s back, hypnotic and soothing. Kamala smells like lavender and something fruity, the epitome of sugar and spice and everything nice. She is different, from Devi’s mother, a little softer, but not the same as her friends, a bit more knowing. She is a middle ground Devi can find some solace in. 

“And then you started dating that boy, Paxton, and something was off with you. Your relationship, in a way it never was with Ben. You never really seemed like  _ yourself _ around him. I didn’t see the Devi I saw at home whenever Paxton was around. You weren’t as strong and as fierce and as happy. You deserved better.” 

“I loved Paxton, Kamala,” she insists. 

“I’m not saying you didn’t. But you didn’t love him in the way you should have.”

“The way I should have?” 

“You loved him like a friend, didn’t you?” 

She did. She loved Paxton—still loves him, but he’ll always, always be a friend to her. He’ll never be anything more. Even the part of their relationship when she thought she was in love with him—it never made her feel like this, like Ben does. 

(her body was not made to feel this much, she thinks, and sometimes it physically hurts when she does) 

Still, she doesn’t want to tell Kamala any of this, and so she crosses her arms and buries her nose in her cousin’s neck. “How do you know that?”

Kamala strokes her hair, soothingly. “I love you, Devi. You’re like a sister to me. In fact, you  _ are _ my sister. I know you. And that’s how I know you haven’t talked to Ben about what happened at Malibu.” 

“I’m not going to.” 

“Devi—” 

“No, Kamala!” she snaps. “I won’t talk about it.” She pulls her head away from Kamala’s shoulder. “I can’t.” 

Kamala just looks at her in that understanding, soft manner Devi hates. Because there is no way to hide from it. There is no shield to duck behind when someone can see right through you. 

“Why?” 

(why? why can’t she talk about malibu? what is it about that moment that makes her want to run away more than anything? it’s been—been years since she’d let herself think about it this much, and pulling back the layers on it hurts, like a physical ache. after some point, repressing it became easier than thinking about it, at some point, ignoring ben became easier than being around him, no matter how much ignoring him did hurt. it became a habit more than anything, and now she’s scared of what will happen if she does decide to open it up)

“No, Kamala. I can’t do this right now.” 

“Devi—” she tries. 

“No, Kamala,” Devi says firmly. She slides off the bed and stands up. “I just—I can’t do this right now, ok?” 

Kamala looks like she wants to protest, but sighs, giving up and nodding, pushing herself off of the bed. “I’ll drop it for now, Devi,” she says softly. “But I hope you know that running away from this isn’t going to make this better not by a long shot. It’s probably going to make things worse, if anything, and there are just some things in life you can’t run from.”

(logically, she knows kamala is right, but devi has been running for the past two years, has been running from ben’s eyes and his lips and hands and smile, and the way he seems to unlock some deep, dark part inside of her that she didn’t even know existed—she has been running from that for so long, and she’s not quite sure how to stop) 

Devi grits her teeth and nods, stiffly. “I know, Kamala. Just—not now. Can we please go have dinner? I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” 

Kamala nods, and then pulls Devi into a hug. “I know you’ll figure it out.” She sighs, letting Devi go and giving her a smile. “You always do.” 

Devi smiles back, a bit tight, but glad for the faith that Kamala has in her. 

She just wishes she had that same faith in herself. 

* * *

She rolls over in bed and bites her lip, grabbing her phone. 

Devi’s gotten pretty good at sneaking out of the house, as long as she’s got a ride. And, well, after the stressful day she’s had (seriously, why was the 26th more stressful than the 25th?) she thinks she could use a little relaxation. 

That, or she’s just horny. Six of one, really. 

So she texts Ben, hitting send on the text before she can consider the implications. So what if it was almost midnight?

Devi groans and drops her phone next to her, staring at her ceiling. It was weird, not having an excuse to go over to his house. During the school year, it would make sense—she and Ben did a lot of work together, even if they tended to hook up either before or after. 

But her mother was off most days of break and it wasn’t exactly easily to budge off. She hadn’t even  _ kissed _ him since break ended on the 20th, and the last time she had seen him was the 23rd. 

Her phone buzzes next to her, and she picks it up to see that Ben’s texted back he’s on his way. Biting her lip, she sits up straight in bed, blankets in a bunch around her. She jumps out of bed and contemplates, for a quick second, changing. Her t-shirt is fine, so she just throws on a light sweater over it, and changes her shorts to sweatpants so she won’t freeze. 

Devi’s knee is bouncing up and down as she waits for him to text he’s here, but he surprises her by calling. 

“Ben?” she hisses, picking up. 

“Look outside.” 

Devi stumbles over to her window in the dark and spots his car, and he’s there, in the front lawn. She can just see him with the flashlight shining from his phone. 

“What the fuck are you doing out on my lawn, you creeper?” 

“Well, I couldn’t throw rocks at your window, you don’t have any!” 

“What the fuck?” 

“You know, the pebbles, rocks, whatever they throw at the window in all the movies? Plus, I was worried I would wake your mom up.” 

Devi glares at him, although there’s no way he can see her. “Stay there. I’m coming down.” 

She ends the call before he can say anything and quietly creeps downstairs, making sure to stay at the far ends of the staircase steps so that they don’t creak underneath her weight. When she opens the door, though, she nearly shrieks when she finds Ben standing there. 

“Hey.” 

Before she can even say anything, he’s stepping into her house, hands going around her jaw to pull her in for a kiss. 

After not kissing him for nearly a week, it wreaks havoc on her systems, and she can’t help it if she curves into him almost helplessly, looking to be closer. Ben’s arm bands across her waist, and she sighs when his hands tighten on her waist. “Ok,” she murmurs. “I get the pebbles now.” 

Ben smiles against her mouth. “Nice.” 

Devi manages to pull herself away and blink at him. “So, where are we going?” 

Ben smirks. “Nowhere.” 

He slides his hand down her arm, curling their fingers together. “Come on,” he smirks. “Secret fantasy, right? Hot guy sneaks into your bedroom and gets you off.” 

“Sounds like a really bad porn movie,” she deadpans. “Or the lead up to an episode of  _ Criminal Minds.” _

“You’re boring,” he whispers. “Come on, Devi. Live a little.” 

She narrows her eyes at him, well aware that he’s baiting her. “I live plenty fine.” 

Ben leans forward, lips brushing her ear. “Maybe have a little danger.” 

“I don’t know why you’re pretending like if my mother discovers us, we won’t both die a slow, bloody, painful death,” she breathes, melting into him. 

“Fair enough. I guess that’s the danger part of it.” 

“There’s danger, and then there’s a suicide mission. This falls on the latter, in case your tiny brain couldn’t realise that.”

“Come on, Devi,” he pouts. 

She pulls back and looks at him, can already feel her resolve crumbling as he stares into her eyes. 

“I fucking hate you,” she groans. 

Ben grins. “That’s it.” 

She lets him lead her up to her room, holding her breath the whole time. This is so, so, so dangerous. 

The added danger, though, is part of the reason she thinks she wants him so bad. There’s something about the danger that adds to the tension, adds to how badly she wants his hands on her. After so long without him, without even a kiss from him, she doesn’t think she can wait much longer. 

Ben pulls her into her room and locks the door, thankfully, before pulling her in and kissing her again. 

Now she fully melts into him, lets him hold her close. Ben cups her jaw, thumb stroking over the curve of her cheek, and Devi slides her hands up his back, trying to touch every inch of him she can reach. 

When Ben kisses her it feels like all of the chaos in her body settles, almost like sand swirling in a stream. It floats to the bottom to rest peacefully, to lie in peace. 

She tilts her mouth and deepens the kiss, letting his tongue sweep into her mouth, and that’s all he needs to pull her closer to him. He stumbles back, dragging her with him, mouth still fused to hers, and pushes her sweater off her shoulders. One hand drags across her head to cup the back of her neck, thumb stroking her pulse. 

Ben pulls his mouth from hers and starts pressing kisses down the length of her neck, and she sighs, tipping her head to the side. “Miss me, David?” he asks, teeth scraping over her neck before his tongue flicks out to soothe the afflicted skin. 

“No,” she bites back, although it probably doesn’t have the same effect when she feels like she’s turning into a pile of goo in his arms. “Not at all.” 

“Hmm,” he says. “Disappointing.” 

“Didn’t really notice you were gone.” 

“You didn’t pine for me more with every waking moment?” 

“We’re not in Regency era England, Ben,” she snorts, sliding her hands up to tug his hoodie off of him, tossing it to the side. “My tender heart didn’t ache for you with the vigour of a thousand suns.” 

“Mm,” he hums, an amused smile crossing his face as he pushes her sweatpants down her hips. “Keep talking.” 

Devi curls her hands around the hem of his t-shirt and pulls it off of him, running her hands down his torso. She curls her hands around his waist and tugs him closer. “What do you want me to say?” she asks, voice pathetically breathy and high. 

He smirks, spinning her around so her back was to him. “I don’t know, anything. What do you want to say?” 

Ben choses that moment to lean down and press a kiss to her back as he lifts her t-shirt off, exposing the smooth plane of her back. She arches into him. “Oh, Ben.” 

She can feel his smirk from where it’s pressed against her spine. “That works.” 

“Jackass.” 

“I know.” Ben turns her back around and pushes her, only in her underwear, towards the bed. It’s only when he settles her down on it and wraps her legs around his waist, kissing at the tops of her breasts, that she realizes what he’s doing. 

“You—you’re not actually  _ serious _ about the bed, are you?” she whisper screams. 

“You didn’t think I was gonna come up here and not fuck you properly, did you?” he smirks, mouth curling into a wicked grin. 

“The mattress is too risky! It’ll make so much noise.” 

Ben sighs, pressing his hand to his forehead. “Well, where else do you suggest, David?” 

Devi rolls her eyes. “I don’t know, the wall?” she quips sarcastically. “Though I doubt you could do that with your stick arms.” 

Ben stares at her before a slow, purposeful smirk crosses his face. Devi’s heart leaps into her throat at the way he looks at her, intense, determined, deliberate. “I did say I liked the scene in  _ The Notebook. _ And you did say we could try it another day.” 

With that, he slides off the bed and curls his hands under her thighs, lifting her up from the bed. He hoists her up, looking up at her the whole time.

Devi gasps, scrabbling at his shoulders as she locks her legs around his waist. The easy way he holds her speaks to strength hidden in the muscles of his arms that she very much wants to discover. 

“Ben, what the fuck are you doing?” 

“You, against the wall, Devi. I thought that was clear.” 

He carries her as he walks forward and pins her against the wall, looking up at her with barely concealed desperation shining in his eyes. 

“It won’t be much quieter than the be—bed,” she tries to point out, her head falling back against the plaster. 

He leans forward and nips at her collarbone. “I guess you’ll just have to be quiet, then.” 

She nearly moans at that, and shit, she can feel him between her legs, tense, ready to tear into her and make her fall apart. Even locking eyes with him is so intense she feels like she could come right there. 

“I want you to fuck me,” she says, clearly. “I want you to fuck me hard.”

He smirks at that. “I can’t refuse a lady, can I?” 

He lowers her down but keeps her pinned against the wall, eyes staring into hers as he hooks his fingers into her underwear and pushes them down. 

“Stay here,” he murmurs, giving her an indulgent kiss that she loses herself in for a moment, before he ducks down and grabs a condom from her drawer. “Still behind the markers, huh?” he murmurs, pressing kisses up the length of her body as he rises back up. 

“Maturity,” she breathes back. “I’ve got spades of it.” 

“Yeah, it really shone through that time you kicked my foot in class and knocked all my books out from underneath me.” 

“That was forever ago.” 

“That was last month.” 

Devi smirks, tossing aside the empty foil packet. “You got me back for it anyways.” 

He grins. “You liked how I did it.” 

“Mm,” she quips, tilting her head. “Performance was adequate. Not stellar.” 

“Oh, really? I could say the same about you.” Ben’s hands slide down her body and back to her ass, and she knows what he wants without him even having to say it. 

She jumps up a bit and he catches her, pulling her up so her legs can lock around his waist. She’s taller than him now, and can kiss him that much harder. 

“Please, Gross.” Devi scrapes her nails across the span of his shoulders, gasping when he rakes his teeth across her neck. “I rocked your world and you know it.” 

“Still hate that, you know.” 

He presses her against the wall and she gasps against his mouth at the cool material, but that’s soon overtaken by the feeling of his hands tracing hot paths down her body. “God,” she breathes. 

“You want me to fuck you hard, huh?” he asks, mouthing at her neck.

She nods. “Glad to know your hearing is still intact. Thought sleeping with me might have blown your brain.” 

“Hmm,” he hums against her, and then, before she can register anything, he shifts, pressing himself against her. 

Even that much is enough for her to gasp, rake her fingers down his back, but he doesn’t move. “You’re sure?” he asks again. 

“Yes,” she chokes out, nails digging into his shoulders.

Thankfully, he listens, because then he thrusts into her. 

Devi cries out at how fucking good he feels, her eyes rolling into the back of her head. Her nails score hardly down his back, drawing blood for sure, but the pleasure coursing through her veins is too potent to ignore. 

“Ben,” she moans. 

“Gotta be quiet, Devi,” he smirks, fucking asshole. She can barely  _ think, _ from how good it feels. How can he? “Don’t want to awake anyone else up.” 

“Fuck you, Ben.”

“You’re the one getting fucked right now.” 

His hand moves from where it’s cupping her ass to running along the length of her thigh, dancing over her skin. 

Then he starts to move, and she can’t hold anything back now. 

Fuck, it feels amazing. The angle is even better and he drives into her so deep her toes curl, thighs shaking as they lock around his waist, She’d be afraid he’d drop her if she was not pressed firmly against the wall, and if he didn’t handle her with frustratingly attractive ease. 

He pulls out and thrusts back in, and she wants to sob at how good it is. How, how could he feel so fucking good? He rubs against that perfect spot in her effortlessly, making her clutch his shoulders that much tighter. 

She knows she’s going to have bruises on her back from how hard he’s driving her into the wall, and she couldn’t care less. 

“Ben,” she cries. “God.” 

“Devi, you have  _ got  _ to be quiet,” he says. “You don’t want your mom waking up, do you?” 

It’s not a  _ likely _ possibility, as her mother’s room is on the opposite side of the whole house and the door is locked, but the fact that there’s a chance, however infinitesimally small, sends shivers down her spin, hands clutching him tighter, closer. “More,” she demands. “Faster.” 

“Be quieter,” he rebuts, and she bites down on his earlobe in retaliation. 

He swears, hips snapping into hers hard, and her laugh of victory is broken off with a moan. “Ben.” 

“Devi, come on.” He snakes his hand down her body and rubs circles on her clit, and this rips a gasp from her chest, arching into him. “Come on.” 

_ “Harder, ” _ she pleads. “Go  _ harder.” _

Ben bites the underside of her jaw, pressing her even harder against the wall, but not changing the force at which he thrusts into her. “Is this what you want?” 

“Ben,” she keens, trying to keep her voice quiet. “Ben, you—you have to—to go. More,” she demands, like a glutton. 

(she  _ is, _ when it comes to him, especially them, here, a tangle of limbs and swollen lips and nails breaking skin. she needs, craves, aches, is nearly insatiable for him, half-delirious with want. this desire, this hunger, though, it’s easy to rationalize. it’s the  _ other _ kind that she can’t handle) 

Ben’s hand moves faster over her clit, and Devi’s head nearly slams back against the wall, legs tightening around his waist. “I said I’d fuck you, _ hard. _ I keep my promises,” he growls. 

“Do it sometime this year,” she pants, baiting him. 

He does, then, hand slipping from in between to grip at her hip, bruisingly tight, as he pushes into her with increased speed. It brings her to the edge frustratingly quickly, the angle wreaking destruction on her body, dizzyingly deep and intense. 

“Almost,” she whimpers. “Close.” 

“Shh,” he soothes. “You can be quiet.” 

“I—I’m trying,” she sobs, nails scratching at his back harshly. “I—I can’t.” 

She is trying, she is, but it feels so damn good she can’t help it. It always feels fucking amazing, with Ben. 

In a fit of desperation, Devi grabs his hand and slaps it over her mouth, biting down on his palm, trying to swallow the cry that wants to tear from her throat. It’s the only way she can even  _ try _ to be a bit quiet with him. 

Then, he thrusts into her hard, pushing her slightly up the wall, and she breaks, fracturing around him. 

The cry does tear itself from her throat now, but it’s muffled against his palm and barely audible even in her bedroom, let alone from anywhere else. 

Her orgasm tears through her, all the more potent after days of not being fulfilled, or, at least, unsatisfactory. She’s sure she’s drawn blood, with how hard she’s scratching at his back, but she can’t help it. As her hand scores harshly up the length of his shoulder blade, she can feel him shudder, lose control inside of her as well. Her lungs are burning, and she shoves his hand off of her mouth now that she’s sure she’s not going to call anyone to her room, sucking air into her chest as her head tips back against the wall, eyes fluttering shut. 

She lets the pleasure soak into her system, relishing in the waves of bliss, coming out of it slowly, languidly. 

His grip on her hips is brutal, painful, and she can’t bear for him to let go of her. Ben presses kisses up and down the length of her neck, messy and sloppy, in no particular pattern, but there all the same. 

“Oh,” she sighs. “Ok, ok.” 

“Notebook-esque enough for you?” he breathes, finally lowering her down to the floor. Her legs are shaking, and she’s grateful he pushes her against the wall so she can lean against it instead of collapsing right to the floor. 

“You’re not Ryan Gosling,” she complains, eyes fluttering open to see his staring right into hers, sapphire gemstones inlaid with obsidian.

He smirks. “Hotter, right?” 

“I’ll get back to you on that.” Devi presses her head against the wall and tries to think, tries to come back to reality. Her fingernails scrabble against the plaster, ignoring how her body feels cold as soon as he pulls away from her. 

Or maybe that’s just—her coming back to reality, the gravity of what they’ve just done, fucking against the wall of her room while her goddamn  _ mother _ was asleep down the hall. 

Dammit, she’s not getting better at any of these bad decisions, is she? 

Devi groans, keeping her eyes shut. “Fuck,” she breathes.

“What?” 

She opens her eyes to see Ben standing in front of her again, concerned eyes on her. He gently runs the very tips of his fingers down the side of her face, a caress. “We can’t do this again,” she says. 

Ben quirks an eyebrow. “Here?” 

She nods. “We can’t do this again, here.” 

“Shame.” He smirks. “Maybe I can convince you to change your mind.” 

With that, he drops to his knees in front of her. 

She’s still sensitive from her last orgasm, so it takes her almost no time at all before this one is crashing over, scrabbling at his hair while she bites back another series of ridiculous moans. By the time he rises back up on his feet, an entirely too smug look on his face—she’s seriously considering stabbing him with a pen, or something—her legs are shaking and she feels like every single one of her limbs is gelatin. 

“Was that enough for you?” he murmurs. 

“You’re the actual, fucking, worst human being on the planet,” she chokes out, head tipping forward and pressing against his shoulder. “I’m going to kill you.” 

“Just let me know the time and place so I can set my affairs in order,” he says, rubbing a hand up and down her back. 

Devi breathes into his collarbone for a bit, trying to keep herself stable until she feels like she can walk again. Ever the gentlemen, Ben leaves her to herself, and gets dressed quickly. When she reaches a hand out and taps her fingers against her palm in a “give me” motion, he hands her her t-shirt and underwear and patiently waits for her to slip them on. 

She still feels a bit like she’s going to crumple to the floor at any second, but she thinks that’s more exhaustion rather than anything else. 

Ben’s hand lands on her shoulder and she sighs. “I wanna go to sleep,” she murmurs. 

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, ok.” 

Before she can take another step, though, he sweeps her up, and she gasps, eyes flying open as she clutches him, just managing to bite back a shriek of shock. “Ben!” 

He walks forward and drops her unceremoniously on the bed, an ungraceful tangle of limbs. She bounces on top of her bedspread a bit, glaring at him as he settles in front of her, cross legged. “I could have walked.” 

“You did say I was really strong, the other day. Thought I would prove it to you.” He reaches forward and curls his hand around her knee. “Did I?” 

She flushes, but doesn’t take her eyes off of him. “Don’t go fishing for compliments where you won’t get any, Gross.” 

He smirks, leaning in and kissing her. 

She could kiss Ben for the rest of her life, she realizes, could kiss him every single second she was left on this planet, and it still wouldn’t be enough. Nothing short of forever would ever be enough, when it came to kissing him. 

Devi sighs into his mouth, scooching forward and climbing into his lap so she can sit and tilt her head down to kiss him harder. For a second, as his hand skates up his back to press between her shoulder blades, she briefly entertains the notion of asking him to stay—but dismisses that almost as soon as it appears. He can’t stay, even if she wants him to. 

(which she doesn’t. she  _ doesn’t. _ or at least, she shouldn’t. she needs to stop giving in to these moments of passion impulses and desires and start being more objective about things, start being more rational about them. but ben makes her irrational, makes her wanting and weak, with no inhibitions. she forgets that she’s not supposed to want him this much whenever she’s with him. it requires no energy on either of their parts, simply the collision of them as reactants, and she undergoes a spontaneous combustion reaction, desperate to pull him closer, to keep him there longer. being trapped in the reaction is always dizzying, always intoxicative and addictive. it’s the after that leaves her heart pounding for him)

Ben draws away first, eyes looking up at her in that same way they always do after she kisses him. It makes the air in her throat freeze, choke up, makes her want to pass out. 

Devi closes her eyes, so she can’t see him looking at her with those expressive blue eyes, the ones that always seem to stare right into her soul, exposing all of her secrets. 

(devi loves his eyes, she does, but she feels damned by them sometimes. there’s something about how blue they are, a unique shade she can never feel like she can remember exactly, no matter how hard she tries, and so she’s tempted to look into them whenever she can. but whenever she does she’s dancing on the edge of occam’s razor, and she doesn’t know on which side she is going to fall) 

“You have to go,” she murmurs. Devi presses her lips together, to resist kissing him again, and trails her fingers down to his mouth, pressing the pads of them against his lips. She breathes, breathes in the smell of him, of sandalwood and sweat. She can’t look at him, so she tries to remember him in every other way she can. 

She feels Ben press a kiss to her cheek. “I know.” 

Devi opens her eyes and slides off of him, and he smiles at her. Ben gets up off her bed and tucks her hair behind her ear, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I’ll see you at school.”

She desperately wishes for his fingers to linger on her cheek, for him to linger, and then she hates herself for wishing it so. 

She’s not sure if she’s relieved or disappointed when he exits without another word, and Devi climbs out of bed to watch out of her window until his car drives away. She grips the edge of the window pane tightly, swallowing roughly. 

Pressing a hand to her forehead, Devi turns back around to her bed to try and get some sleep when she spots something on the floor. 

Ben’s hoodie. 

Devi picks it up, running her hands over it over and over again. She runs her thumb over the patterning on the front, the soft, soft fabric, the tag. She lifts it up and presses it to her nose. Breathes it in. Breathes him in. 

(sandalwood and sweat and his hands on her hips and model un and his eyes and his mouth on hers and his smile and kitchen lighting and a porsche cayenne and friendship punches and the callous on his right thumb and malibu—) 

Devi can’t resist. She’s tired of fighting, and it’s one am. 

So, she tugs her shirt off, slips his hoodie onto her bare skin, and wraps her arms around herself, burying her nose into her shoulder. It’s not as strong as having him there, not as powerful as having his arms wrapped around her, but it’s what she can take and what she’ll live with. 

Dr. Ryan had always said that writing was a good way to get the feelings out, and, well—she still doesn't know how she feels, still doesn’t think she can touch Malibu with a fifty-five foot pole, but she needs to say something. 

Climbing into bed, Devi reaches over and pulls the notebook out. She’s gone through at least five or six of them since sophomore year—writing her feelings down about her father’s death had been helpful, but whenever she mentioned Malibu she was careful not to mention Ben. She still can’t. 

But she has to start somewhere. 

So, wrapped in his hoodie, she flips open the cover and starts with the week he saved her. 

Devi writes, writes down every single memory she has from that week, a week she usually keeps in her mind to pull out whenever she feels particularly lonely. 

Scraps of moments flash through her mind; dinner and video games; a movie; falling asleep on his couch; one night, when they had stayed up ridiculous late, studying for a biology exam, where he had buried her nose in her shoulder and she had wrapped her arm around his waist; things that she didn’t want to believe had happened but had happened. Now that she lets herself remember them, lets herself acknowledge they were real and true, that he was there, all the feelings she’s pent up come rushing back. 

She thinks about what he said a few days ago, about how it wasn’t a big deal and it—it makes her mind spin, her hands shake, her blood simmer. She knows it’s because Ben never,  _ ever _ thinks that what he does is a big deal, because he’s used to putting everyone else’s wants and needs and desires before his—but she doesn’t  _ get it. _

How could he be so blind? 

Devi grips the pencil tighter. Sometimes, she doesn’t know  _ why _ she turned to Ben when she needed someone, when she needed to talk to him. 

(but then she remembers that a decade and more of history is not something easily forgotten, that it’s not something you can just brush aside like it never happened, especially when her life has always, always been entangled with ben’s. she’s not exactly sure what her life would be like without him. it’s not something she’s ever had to think of, before, and now she does.

he’s gotten her, inside and out, and even before they were friends and the way he knew exactly what to say and how to hold her and what she would listen to and that he had to bring eleanor and fabiola to get her to malibu and—)

Ben’s one of the best people she’s ever met, and it kills her that he doesn’t see himself as such. 

It tears her apart, inside and out, that he’s always put her first, that it’s become second nature for him to give into the whims of his flighty parents and to take a step back, to let him take all of the beatings. He thinks the way he’s been treated is the way he deserves when it’s the exact opposite, when he deserves everything, to be put first, to be the first choice. 

She’d been so wrapped up in her problems and her grief and her issues that week—and she doesn’t necessarily hate that, knew she had to focus on herself and her father before anyone else—but she hates herself for what she did after that. 

He’d given her his heart, for that week, she knows, and she’d crushed it underneath her heel, and turned away. 

(he’s never going to give it to her again, she’s sure of that)

Devi knows she could try for a million years and never repay him back for what he did for her, could try for a million years and never really deserve him, but the scariest thing is that, right now, she wants to. 

But she just wants to because she talked with Kamala about Malibu a few days ago and she’s wearing his hoodie and he was just here. 

Devi closes the notebook at three am, having filled six pages. Her hand is aching—from writing or the absence of his—she’s not sure. 

She tucks the book away and lies down in her bed, the hoodie fabric bunching up around her shoulders, and she buries her nose in it, breathing him in. A poor substitute for him, because nothing can ever replace him. It’s a truth she’s been ignoring for the past two (twelve) years, and she can’t. Not anymore. 

Devi falls asleep, and hopes, against all hope, that she dreams of him again tonight. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my hindu family and i celebrate christmas, so, whatever. your comments and kudos make me happier than kamala receiving a glass beaver! come talk to me about the show! you can find me on tumblr: @[parkersedith](https://parkersedith.tumblr.com)


	8. act viii: keep me in your clouded mind ‘til time ignites a spark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Challenge accepted.”_
> 
> _“You don’t even know what it is.”_
> 
> _“Still know I’m going to beat you.”_
> 
> _His fingers flex against his arms, bright blue eyes turning darker. “Promises, promises.”_
> 
> _“I don’t make any I can’t keep.”_
> 
> _He raises his eyebrows. “I’m sure you don’t.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is brought to you by maggie's vampiric tendencies and leila sending me at least 5 screenshots of her amylase lab report for less than 100 words of scientific banter
> 
> hey guys! holy shit, we are halfway through the fic, can you believe it? i certainly can't, and we still have a long, long way to go. i'm really excited to share the rest of this story with you guys! don't think we can call this the homestretch (sidenote: is that cause of horse races? that's always what they have in the movies) but we are at the halfway point! it's only gonna get crazier from here. i'm so excited. 
> 
> i know this chapter is a day late, and i actually had it finished in accordance with my schedule, but i wasn't feeling up to posting it last night. i hope you guys like it, anyways, i had a lot of fun writing it, as usual. 
> 
> lots of underage drinking in this chapter, cause, you know. they be teens. lots of stuff is said, i ask you keep in mind their state while reading, please. just wanted to let you guys know, even though it's all tagged and everything. just being safe :)
> 
> (chapter title from “we sink” by of monsters and men)
> 
> ok guys, enjoy!!!

She shows up to his house stone-cold sober, something she’s hoping will change pretty soon. 

Devi smoothes down her dress and lets herself into his living room, glancing around the house to see where Ben is. 

It looks completely deserted, and—without Ben here—lonely. She’s never felt lonely in this house before, never felt the coldness of it seep into her bones like it does now, but that’s because he’s always been here with her. 

“Ben?” she calls, turning her head to the living room. “I’m here.” 

There’s no response, and she feels herself get a bit worried, for once. His car’s outside—she knows he’s home. 

Devi swallows roughly and peeks around the corner. His house is  _ massive, _ so much so that she’s a little worried she’ll get lost trying to navigate it. 

“Ben?” she calls out again. 

“In here,” he says, his voice muffled. 

It comes from upstairs, and Devi heaves a sigh of relief when she realizes he’s in his bedroom. She jogs up the stairs and pushes open the door, heartbeat slowing at the sight of Ben, puttering around his room. 

“What are you doing, Gross?” 

He doesn’t look up from her as he pushes his chair into his desk, leaving the floor bare. “Just cleaning it up a bit. You should have seen the mess it was before I tidied up.” 

Devi leans against the doorway and crosses her ankles over one another, smirking at him. “Fun New Year’s plans, Ben.” 

He flashes her a sharp grin, the kind that makes her want to lock them both in his room for an indeterminate amount of time. It’s  _ so _ not fair that he knows what he does to her. She knows she’s got power over him, he can’t know the same thing. 

“That’s what you’re here for, isn’t it?” he smirks. 

Devi raises an eyebrow. “You’re awfully presumptuous.” 

Ben walks closer to her and drags his finger down her arm, smirking. His eyes are bright, bright blue, almost fluorescently so, in the darkness of his room. “Don’t you think I have a right to be, by now?” 

Devi tilts her head up towards his, hoping he will lean in and kiss her. “By now?” she repeats. “What does that even mean?” 

“Come on, David,” he says, sliding his arm around her waist and pulling her closer. “Three months? I can be a little presumptuous when it comes to you, can’t I?” 

He leans in and nips at the underside of her jaw, and Devi struggles to not melt into his arms pathetically easily. “If I give you an inch, you’ll take a mile, Gross.” 

He grins against her jawline, scattering kisses up and down the length of her neck. “Don’t you want me to take what I want?” 

Her breath stops in her chest, completely, as if it’s been frozen, and she chokes over nothing as she struggles to get the next few words out. “Um—I—” 

Ben laughs, drawing away from her, and, pathetically, she feels like it’s a bit easier to focus on something else, thank god. “You don’t have to answer that, David.” He smirks. “I know the answer.” 

She rolls her eyes. “You’re such a dick.” 

Backing away from her fully, Ben leans against his desk and mirrors her posture, crossing his arms and legs. “You excited for the new year?” 

Devi narrows her eyes. “Why do you ask?” 

Ben shrugs. “Oh, no reason. Just wondering if you had a New Year’s resolution.” 

She snorts. “Of course not. I don’t subscribe to that ridiculousness.” 

“Ridiculousness? Is that what you call tradition, David?” 

“Of course not. I just don’t think that there should be any reason to make a decision to change your life today as opposed to any other day of the week, that’s all. Plus, it’s not like anyone actually ever sees them through.” 

Ben’s gaze drags over her, top to bottom, and she wills herself not to flush, to remain cool and calm, even with the heady, purposeful look in his eyes, which linger on her legs, hips, breasts. “I think they’re easier with other people involved, you know. That’s what I heard, at least.” 

Devi licks her lips, hand curling around her arm a little tighter so she doesn’t do something stupid like drag him in to kiss her. “You want us to make a resolution together? What for?” 

He tilts his head to the side, smirking at her. “I haven’t quite decided yet. I’ll let you know when I do.” 

Her body flushes with heat, and she refuses to take her eyes off of his. 

“Challenge accepted.” 

“You don’t even know what it is.” 

“Still know I’m going to beat you.” 

His fingers flex against his arms, bright blue eyes turning darker. “Promises, promises.” 

“I don’t make any I can’t keep.”

He raises his eyebrows. “I’m sure you don’t.” 

The air between them crackles, and she wonders, for a brief second, why they have not gone to each other yet, why neither of them have ignited the match to turn the tension laced glaces between them into an inferno of touches and kisses and moans. There are no pretenses between them, no miscommunication in the heavy, almost dark look in his eyes. 

(this, between them, is perhaps the only time they can be direct with one another. sex, and she doesn’t want to think about how sad that is, that she only really knows how to talk to him during sex, that she only knows how to communicate when she’s telling him how to touch her. she trusts ben, she does, but the scary thing about that is that she trusts him so implicitly, she’s not sure how to tell him what she needs to) 

He wants her, and she wants him, and they both know it. 

So why are they here, teetering on the edge of something they both know how to get? 

Ben clears his throat, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “What did you tell your mom about tonight?” 

“That I was staying over at Fabiola’s with her and Eleanor and one of them would drive me home tomorrow afternoon.” Devi pushes herself off the threshold and saunters over to Ben, smirking as his gaze shoots down to her mouth. “So, I’m here for quite a while.” 

Ben, surprisingly, doesn’t touch her, gaze still focused on his mouth, although his hands shake where they’re tucked into his pockets. “Is that so?” 

“Mmm,” she assents, tilting her head to the side. “What kind of plans do you have?” 

She leans in and presses her palm against his chest, splaying her fingers out. “I like to be informed about what you’re going to do.” 

“Me alone is not enough to entertain you, David?” he says, smirking. 

She laughs. “Please, Gross. Make things a little more exciting. Bust out those bottles of vodka I know you’ve got tucked in some bar room, or whatever. You guys probably have got beers on tap, for god’s sakes.” 

By the way his nose scrunches up, she knows she’s right. “Oh, god,” she snickers. “Rich people are ridiculous.” 

Ben’s hand curls over hers on his chest, fingers pressing into her palm. “You wanna play a game?” 

The way he says that makes her head spin, makes her blood boil. She loves competing with him. It makes her feel alive in a way very few things do, sends shots of adrenaline coursing through her body, makes her feel like she is on top of the world and can take on anything. 

“Depends on what game you have in mind.” 

“Truth or dare.” 

Devi can’t help but giggle at that. “Truth or dare? What are we, in 7th grade? You want us to play truth or dare?” 

His mouth curls up in a smile, and he leans in a bit closer, speaking just over her mouth. “Oh, sorry. I meant strip truth or dare.” 

Devi stops laughing instantly. “What?” 

“You heard me right the first time.” With the hand on his chest, Ben pulls her a little closer, so close she can see the fracturing in his irises as she stares into him. “You gonna back down?” 

(he’s baiting her, he is, she knows it well, knows it like the back of her hand. ben can push her buttons and bait her like no one else can, and she can do the same to him. it makes everything more intense: arguing, bickering, hooking up. it dials them up to eleven) 

She stares at him, pulling her hand out of his grasp. “Game on.” 

* * *

“And then, Mr. Brown had the  _ audacity _ to tell me I was too sharp on my solo. Too sharp! That man wouldn’t know the right notes if they hit him in the head with a sledge hammer.” 

“El,” Fabiola cuts in. “What the hell are you talking about?” 

Eleanor groans, flopping back on the floor of Fabiola’s room, splaying herself out like a starfish. Silk pajamas and a face mask, and yet, she doesn’t feel any more relaxed. 

“I’m the goddamn lead in the musi- _ cal, _ and the freaking director is too tone deaf to recognize my talent.” 

“Too tone deaf to—” 

“Recognize my talent, yes, I know what I said, Fabiola.” 

Fabiola nods, still looking a bit confused. “You know, Eleanor, maybe you should just—” 

“Quit? Never! I’m the lead in this production and if I have to carry it on my back, then so be it! I will make all of us shine.” 

“I was going to say maybe you should relax, for a moment,” Fabiola deadpans. 

“Oh.” Eleanor scrunches her nose up. “Yeah, you’re probably right.” She sighs, looking up at the ceiling. “I just—want everything to go perfectly for the big day.” 

Fabiola sighs, lying down next to Eleanor. “El, you’re the most talented person I’ve ever met. You got into Juilliard.” 

“This is the first year they have a musical theater program,” Eleanor points out gloomily. “It’s supposed to be groundbreaking and legendary. What if I’m not?” 

Fabiola shakes her head. “You  _ are _ groundbreaking and legendary. You’ve gotten the lead in every single production since  _ sophomore year. _ You’re gonna kill it.” 

“You really think so?” 

“Eleanor.” Fabiola’s voice is sharp, commanding, sure. 

(this, this is the fabiola eleanor feels honored to see, the one who stands up for her friends at all costs, the one who will protect her friends with teeth and a strong spine. she reminds eleanor of a wolf, almost, loyal to the ends of the earth, defender of the pack, baring her teeth when necessary) 

“You are talented. You’re going to kill it at Juilliard and I’ll get to tell everyone that I know one of the most talented students the school has ever had.” 

Eleanor smiles. “Thanks, Fab.” 

“Anytime, El.” 

They’re silent for a moment, staring up at the ceiling and breathing the silence in, slowly, carefully. 

“How often do you think about what’s going to happen after high school?” Eleanor asks. 

“All the time.” 

Eleanor turns her head to look her best friend in the eyes. “Do you think you’ll miss it?” 

Fabiola considers the question for a moment, in her typical, careful fashion. Eleanor has studied her best friend, knows her almost as well as she knows herself. 

(in so many of her memories, that she holds carefully close to her heart, there is fabiola and devi. they are more constant than almost everyone else in her life, more constant than her own mother. there is no question of who loves her more—and if asked, eleanor would not hesitate to answer) 

Fabiola blinks twice, like she always does, just before she answers. “I don’t think I’ll miss high school. I think I’ll miss what we had, though.” 

Eleanor blinks back tears. “You don’t think we’ll find it again?” 

“I don’t want to say no, but. No, I don’t think we will.” 

Eleanor sighs. Part of her heart is breaking, part of her heart feels like it is tearing apart. She knows that Fabiola is right, knows that they are winding down the clock and that what they have will not last long. 

But she loves her best friends, loves them, and so she reaches out and takes Fabiola’s hand in hers. 

“Yeah,” she sighs. “Me neither.” 

Eleanor links her hands and looks up at the ceiling. “You know who I saw the other day?” Fabiola says. 

“Could be anyone. Everyone’s back for the holidays.” 

“Paxton Hall-Yoshida.” 

Eleanor barks out a laugh. “Of course you did. Washed up high school athlete.” 

“He’s going to UCLA.” 

“I stand by what I said,” Eleanor mutters. “I never liked him.” 

“Yeah, you made no secret of that for two years.” 

Eleanor opens her mouth to rebut Fabiola’s statement, but her phone rings.

She furrows her brow, not recognizing the number, but picking it up anyways. “Hello?” 

“Hello, Eleanor?” 

Eleanor nearly chokes. “Dr. Vishwakumar?” 

“Hi, sweetie. Do you mind giving the phone to Devi? She’s not picking up and I wanted to ask her something.” 

“Um, yeah, no problem,” Eleanor stammers out. “She’s just in the bathroom right now, so I’ll—give it to her as soon as she comes back.” 

“Thank you, honey.” 

Eleanor mutes the call and looks at Fabiola in a panic. “What are we going to do?” she hisses. 

“I don’t know!” Fabiola’s eyes bug out. “Where the hell  _ is _ Devi?” 

Well, that’s an easy question. She’s hooking up with Ben, no doubt about it.

Eleanor doesn’t  _ mind _ being Devi’s excuse, not at all, and she certainly doesn’t mind keeping this a secret, since Devi’s clearly not ready to tell anyone what’s going on, but  _ still. _ God, Eleanor loves her friend, but she’s gotta have a better contingency plan. 

(eleanor’s well aware devi’s secrecy is less of the fact that she cannot trust her friends, and more so born of the fact that she doesn’t  _ really _ want to acknowledge what is happening between her and ben, and as soon as she says something to someone about what they’re doing, then that makes it  _ real, _ more real than devi can probably handle. she knows this because she knows devi’s heart as well as she knows her own. ten years of friendship and bracelets and chipped nail polish will do that to you)

“Fuck,” Eleanor swears. “What are we gonna do?” 

“Call her!” Fabiola hisses.

“You do that! I’m on the phone with her mother!” 

“Right, right,” Fabiola says, fumbling with her phone. “I got it, I got it.”

The phone rings, a bunch of times, before going to voicemail.

“She’s not picking up,” Fabiola says, her voice becoming increasingly panicked.

“Oh, she owes us  _ so _ much for this,” Eleanor mutters. “Try again.” 

Fabiola redials the number, and as the phone is ringing, her eyes flicker over to Eleanor. “Where the hell  _ is _ she?” 

Eleanor bites her tongue. “You know Devi. Probably off with some stupid guy and used us as an excuse.” 

The phone goes to voicemail again. 

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” Fabiola mutters. “What the fuck is happening? We’re all gonna die. Devi’s mom is gonna kill her, and then tell our parents we helped her lie to her mom, and then they’ll kill us.” 

“I’m seriously gonna charge her for every time she uses us as an excuse from now on, Eleanor mutters.

Her eyes bounce back over to her phone. “Fuck, we’ve left her on mute for like, twenty-five fucking minutes.” 

“It’s been five, actually, but I get what you mean.” 

“Devi, you  _ so _ owe me for this,” And then Eleanor picks up the phone, clearing her throat and putting on the best Devi voice she’s got. 

“Hi, Mom.” 

She holds her breath.  _ Fuck,  _ she’s literally going to die, and she’s taking Devi down with her. 

“Hi, kanna,” Nalini says, warm. “I’m sorry, I just needed to know what you wanted for dinner tomorrow night, since Kamala is coming over?” 

Eleanor’s eyes bug out. Indian food? She doesn’t know the first thing about Indian food. Oh fuck. 

Seriously, the next time she sees Devi, she’s gonna kill her. 

“Um,” Eleanor says, trying not to let the panic bleed through and fuck up her Devi voice. “I’ll have anything?” 

Eleanor can practically  _ hear _ the frown in Nalini’s voice as she says, “Devi, don’t lie to me. I know you won’t like half of what I make, so tell me what you want for dinner, and I will make that.” 

She chokes. “No, seriously, Mom, I don’t care.” 

“Devi, I want a decision. Are you ok? You sound  _ very _ weird. Do I need to come get you from Fabiola’s house?” 

Eleanor coughs.  _ Oh, shit. _ “No, no! I’m fine, Mom. Um, I’ll have something from last week. Just—pick it.” 

Nalini sighs heavily. “Devi, kanna, you need to be more decisive in things. I’ll just make dosa. Thank you for letting me know. I’ll be expecting you home at 3, alright?” 

“Ok,” she manages to say, and then waits for Nalini to hang up the phone. 

Eleanor flings her phone away from her as fast as she can, as if that can erase what had just happened. 

“Oh, god,” she moans. “Tell Devi to keep her phone charged all the time, now. I’m gonna need to let her know where to meet me so I can kill her.” 

Fabiola grips her own phone a bit distractedly. “I think I just aged like, twenty five years, or something.” 

Eleanor laughs bitterly, rubbing her eyes with her hands. “Yeah, me too, Fab.” 

“Why does she always use us as an excuse?” 

“Cause she can’t tell her mom the truth,” Eleanor bites out. “Which is fine, cause, like, I get it, but for god sakes, Devi, keep your phone on.” 

Fabiola’s phone then rings, and it’s Devi. 

“Hey, fuck you,” Eleanor calls, as soon as Fabiola picks up. 

“Uh, why?” Devi says. “Why did you call me like, seven times?” 

“Firstly, we called you twice,” Fabiola corrects, wagging her finger towards the phone as if Devi can see her. ‘Don’t exaggerate so much. Second, we called you cause your mom called us here and wanted to talk to you.” 

Devi lets out a string of truly impressive curse words in two seconds flat. “I’m so fucking screwed, aren’t I?” she moans. “My phone died, fuck.” 

“Relax, drama queen,” Eleanor says. “I got you covered.” 

Devi snorts. “You’re calling  _ me _ drama queen?” 

“You’re the one acting like it now.” 

Devi pauses. “Fair enough. How the fuck did you have me covered?” 

“I do a pretty good Devi voice, if I do say so myself. My Fabiola still needs a bit of work, sadly, but I’m getting there.” 

“Oh god,” Devi breathes. ‘“El, I owe you  _ so _ fucking much.” 

“Fuck yeah, you do.” 

Eleanor smirks, even though Devi can’t see her. “Wanna tell  _ us _ where you are?” 

“Yeah, Devi,” Fabiola buts in. “Where are you?” 

Devi splutters. “Uh—um, I’m at—at a party.” 

“Without us?” Eleanor laughs. “I’m not sure how insulted I should be.” 

“No you—you guys don’t wanna be here. It’s boring,” she stammers. 

Fabiola looks genuinely confused, but Eleanor should  _ not _ be having so much teasing Devi about this. “If it’s boring, come hang out with us,” Fabiola says. “Eleanor snuck some champagne and we’re gonna watch the LA celebrations in my room. I have a really good wifi connection for my robots, anyways.” 

“I, uh, I can’t.” 

“Why, Devi?” 

“She’s gonna hook up with someone, Fab,” Eleanor supplies. 

“Eleanor!” 

“What, Devi? I’m not wrong.” 

Fabiola shakes her head. “Man, I wish Eve were here. I miss her. She’s out with her family.” 

(she shoves down the pang of loneliness that wells up in her, like the tide, at this. she wonders when she will stop feeling this, when she will stop wondering who will stay for  _ her. _ eleanor craves intimacy, the way you crave lightning in the middle of a thunderstorm, the way satellites crave to be torn apart by gravity. the thing about being left behind—twice, her mind supplies—by the person who is  _ supposed _ to love you more than anyone else in the whole world is that you expect everyone else to do the same. if her own  _ mother _ couldn’t find a reason to stick around, why would anyone else? when was she going to find the person that loved her beyond reason, to hold her on cold nights and to tuck herself into?) 

Fabiola glances at Eleanor, and the expression on her face shifts, ever so slightly. “Look, Devi, we’ll talk to you later, ok? Have fun at the party. Your mom wants you home by three.” 

She ends the call before Devi can even say anything, and turns to Eleanor. “El, what’s wrong?” 

Eleanor sighs, running a hand down her pigtail. “I just—I hate that my mom can still make me feel this way.” 

Fabiola holds up a hand. “Wait one second.” 

She disappears out the door and returns two minutes later, with two tiny cartons of ice cream, spoons sticking out of them. “Here,” she says, handing one to Eleanor. 

Eleanor gratefully accepts the ice cream and scoops out a large chuck, shoving it into her mouth and sighing in relief. “Thanks,” she mumbles, around the cold food.

Fabiola takes a much smaller scoop of her ice cream. “Anytime.” 

Eleanor looks down at the floor, not sure if she can tell this to Fabiola and look her in the eyes at the same time. 

“Why doesn’t she love me?” 

“Oh, Eleanor.” 

Eleanor wipes away the tears with the back of her hand and takes another bite of ice cream, trying not to cry too ridiculously hard. “She chose to leave me behind twice. Why?” 

Fabiola sets down the ice cream carton and wraps her arms around Eleanor, hugging her. “I’m so sorry, El.” 

“I wish I was enough for her,” she whispers. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be enough for anyone.” 

Fabiola hugs her even tighter. “You are enough, Eleanor. I promise you. You’re enough for me and Devi. You don’t have to change a single thing about you.” 

Eleanor buries her face in her palms, finally letting the tears spill down her face. “I wasn’t her dream.” 

(dreams. eleanor has dreams, tons of them, of her name in shining billboard lights, of her name on playbills and on broadway, she has dreams that most people don’t even dare to dream, dreams that she knows she will succeed in, dreams she is determined to succeed in. she has dreams, but she has never  _ been _ the dream.

and nightmares, too. eleanor has nightmares, that her dreams will not succeed, that she will leave people behind like her mother, that one day, fabiola and devi will wake up and realize that there is something about her that sends people running. it is a nightmare she holds close to her heart) 

Eleanor knows there’s nothing to say to that, nothing Fabiola can say that will soothe this ache, but she tries anyways. 

“You deserve better than that, Eleanor. You’ll be someone’s dream.” 

“I just want someone to want to stay with me.” 

“I’ll stay,” Fabiola says. 

(fabiola is her best friend, and eleanor is sure that soulmates exist, and that fabiola is hers. fabiola is the other half of her soul and the shoulder she leans on when she needs someone to be there for her, and she loves her for it)

“You’re the best, you know that, Fab?” 

“Sorry, not possible, you’re the best.” 

Eleanor lets out a wet laugh. “I think we’re both the best. Devi can come in third.” 

“Don’t let her hear you say that. She’ll run over from wherever she’s staying and be  _ so _ insulted.” 

Eleanor laughs at the truth of that statement, already feeling like a massive weight is off her shoulders. 

“So,” Eleanor says, grinning. “It is the New Year. Want that champagne?” 

Fabiola smirks. “Beer pong first.” 

“Now we’re talking.” 

* * *

He stares at her, stares at the smooth line of her throat that bobs when she swallows. 

“Sorry,” she murmurs, lifting her phone away from her ear. 

He shakes his head. “It’s fine. Can—can you stay?” 

“Considering my mom hasn’t called me a million times, I think we’re ok.” 

Ben leans back against his bed. “Not gonna take the easy way out, David?” he smirks. 

That familiar spark reignites itself in Devi’s eyes, the one that always makes his chest feel like a two-ton elephant is sitting on it. 

“I don’t back down from a challenge, Gross.” 

He crosses his arms. “Ground rules.” 

Devi snorts, sitting on the floor, leaning back on her palms. “How many rules can there be to strip truth or dare?” 

“Well, I don’t want you to cheat your way out of this, David. We all know you’re dying to get me naked as soon as possible.” 

Devi reaches over and throws a pillow at his head. “You’re disgustingly full of it.” 

“You didn’t say you weren’t,” he sing-songs, dodging the next pillow she throws at him. 

“Asshole.” 

“Do you want me to tell you the rules, or do you want me to just sit here while you hurl insults at me the whole night?” 

She winks at him. “Is that something you’re into?” 

Ben barks out a laugh. “You wish, David.” 

“So, what are these rules?” 

“You refuse to tell the truth, you lose a piece of clothing. You refuse to do a dare, same. It’s pretty simple.” He leans back against this bed and raises an eyebrow. “You’re not chicken, right?” 

Devi tosses her hair over her shoulder. “Never.” 

“You wanna go first?” 

“Be prepared to lose, Gross.” 

Ben quirks an eyebrow, reaching behind him and pulling out a bottle of champagne. “Oh, and for each question, take a sip.” 

Devi laughs. “Now we’re talking. Gimme.” 

“Ah ah,” he says, holding it out of her grasp. Devi scowls at him. “You said you were gonna ask me, first, right?” 

“Fuck, right,” she swears. She narrows her eyes at him, tilting her head, and, for the first time since this all started, Ben feels a little bit of fear. “Truth or dare?” she asks. 

“Truth.” 

Devi chews her lip. “Did you really believe that my legs were psychosomatic?” 

He takes a sip of the champagne, feeling it burst in his stomach, warm and happy. “No,” he answers. “I didn’t.” He doesn’t elaborate on that, and thankfully, she doesn’t ask him to. 

“Truth or dare?” he asks, handing her the bottle. 

Devi licks her lips, staring into his eyes. “Dare.” 

Ben smirks. “I dare you to listen to listen to Paganini for the rest of the night.” 

Devi glares at him. “Seriously?” 

“Hey, if you don’t wanna do it, you can just say so. By, you know, taking your clothes off.” 

“You’re such a dick,” she says, taking a sip of champagne. “I guess I can stomach your pretentious taste in music for like, one night.” 

Ben laughs and hooks his phone up with his Bluetooth speaker, playing a composition at low volume. “Truth or dare?” 

He takes the bottle from her and considers it. “Dare.” 

She smirks. “Go jump in the pool.” 

“It’s like, 45 fucking degrees outside? It’s freezing!” 

“That’s the dare, Gross. Unless you, you know, get rid of some clothes.” 

Ben considers it, for a second, actually jumping into the pool—but it’s fucking cold outside, and it’ll be worse in the pool, so he decides against it. He toes off his socks, tossing them into the corner. “There,” he says, sipping a bit of the champagne before handing the bottle back to her. 

Devi just grins at him. “Truth or dare.” 

“Truth.” 

Ben swallows roughly. “What did you think of me when you first saw me?” 

Devi freezes, and then lets out a stilted laugh. “Nice try, Gross.” 

He frowns. “What—” he tries to get out, but she’s already shrugging her jacket off her shoulders, tossing the denim in the corner. 

(what doesn’t she want him knowing? what could be that bad that she doesn’t think he deserves to know, that she thinks he shouldn’t hear? what is it about him that repulsed her for so many years?) 

Ben’s drawn out of his thoughts by Devi, pushing the bottle against his foot to get him to pay attention. “Hey, Gross, your turn.” 

They run through a few more rounds of easy truths and dares—and the champagne isn’t very strong, but he can definitely feel it in his stomach, spreading out, slightly warm. It makes his tongue a bit looser, a bit braver to ask her questions that he might not have before. 

Ben glances down at the bottle in his hands. “Truth or dare?” Devi asks him. 

“Truth.” 

“Why did Shira break up with you?” 

“That’s between me and her, David.” 

“Rules of the game, Gross.” 

He scowls at her. “Fine.” 

Ben reaches for the back of his shirt and pulls it off, tossing it in the same corner with his socks and her jacket. Devi stares at him, the pink flush already present on her face—courtesy of the champagne—deepening on her cheeks. Her eyes trace over his shoulders, lingering there as he presses himself back against the bed, and it takes her a moment to tear her eyes away. “You—you’re not going to tell me?”

(of course he’s not going to tell her, he’s not going to tell her why he hasn’t seriously dated anyone since the beginning of sophomore year, because every time he tried—and he did try, try a lot, in fact—there was never anything there that made him want to come back, and he knew that) 

“Like I said, David. It’s between me and Shira.” He hands her the bottle. “Truth or dare.” 

Devi clutches the bottle a bit tighter. “Truth.” 

Ben searches in the recesses of his mind for a question he desperately wants to know the answer to, wants her to tell him. “What happened on prom night?” 

Devi’s hands shake. “You’re seriously going to ask me that?” 

He swallows. “I want to know.” 

She shakes her head. “That’s between me and Paxton, Gross. Just like it was between you and Shira.” 

(he’s referring, of course, to the way devi had run out of the house party after prom crying, how paxton had chased after her, and how the next day the school had been awash with rumours of their breakup. for a moment, ben had been filled with rage at the idea of paxton making her cry, but, like always, he had shoved those feelings down and ignored them. and paxton and devi had lasted through graduation, so the rumours had dispelled by themselves) 

Devi shakes her head and instead, reaches up and pulls her dress off, leaving her in just her bra and underwear. Ben swallows roughly. He’s seen her in less, of course, but there’s something about her sitting across from him, wearing a pastel blue bra and dark purple underwear—that’s far more revealing than her just naked. 

He drags his eyes from the plane of her stomach and accepts the bottle from her. “Truth or dare?” she asks, softly. 

“Truth.” 

“Who found me on the couch?” 

Ben looks down at the floor. “Fuck,” he swears, and stands up, pulling his jeans off before sitting back down. 

“Wait, you’re not gonna answer me?” 

He bites his lip and lies, “I don’t remember who it was. Wasn’t me, though.” 

Devi eyes him. “You weren’t the one who found me asleep on your couch and put the blanket over me the first night I stayed at your place?” 

He was, but he’s not going to let  _ her _ know that. It’s—not a memory he revisits often, and when he does, it hurts. It’s like finding a butterfly with a broken wing, something that deserves to be free, but never will be again.

“I don’t know, David,” he says easily, adding an air of nonchalance to his words. “My parents were both actually home that day, and Patty could have found you. I don’t remember, only that I came down the next morning and found your hair in a rat’s nest.” 

She squints at him. “Ok, you ass.” She swipes the bottle from him, curling her fingers around the neck of it. She tosses her hair back cavalierly, exposing the column of her neck, and all he can suddenly focus on is the curve of her collarbone, the smooth expanse of her shoulder as it dips down her chest, the valley between her breasts he wants to discover with his lips. “Truth or dare?” he asks.

“Dare,” she says.

“I dare you to kiss me.” 

“Are we five?” she snorts, but her eyes are dancing with interest. 

“You could always take your clothes off,” he murmurs, watching her. 

Her face flashes through a thousand and one expressions in the span of a moment, settling on determination, and then she’s crawling towards him and settling herself in his lap before her hands reach up and cup his jaw, tilting his head up for a kiss. 

She tastes like champagne and cherry lip gloss, and he’s addicted to it, swiping his tongue across the seam of her lips until her mouth opens up for him, dark and consuming. 

Their teeth clash a few times, and it’s definitely not their best kiss, but it’s nowhere  _ near _ bad, and he has to resist the urge to slide his hands up her back and undo the clasp of her bra, to kiss her entire body. 

Devi’s hands settle on his shoulders and tug him closer, gently running her nails across his shoulders, and he winces when her nail catches a scratch that she left a few days ago. 

“Sorry,” she mumbles. 

“It’s fine,” he says back, focusing on kissing her for as long as possible. He settles his hands on her waist, thumbs stroking her hips, and she sighs when his grip on them tightens and he pulls her into him. 

He pulls back from her first, running his tongue over his lips and tasting her cherry gloss. Devi stares at him, then swipes her thumb across his bottom lip, it coming off slightly red. He doesn’t let his eyes flicker from hers, looks right into them. 

Unexpectedly, she doesn’t move off of his lap, simply reaches over and curls her hand around the neck of the bottle, tilting it up to take a swig. He watches as a drop of champagne escapes the corner of her mouth and the way her throat bobs as she swallows, and now he wants nothing more than to taste it off of her. “Truth or dare?” she asks, voice low. 

Ben slides his hands up her back and some part, deep, deep inside of him, delights in the way she arches into his touch almost unconsciously, pushing herself closer to him. “Truth.” 

“You lied to me about the couch, right? You were the one who found me there?” 

Ben looks her in the eyes. He hates lying to her, has never really, really been able to, so he tells her. “Yes.” He takes the bottle of champagne with her and tips it back, letting it slide down his throat. He never breaks eye contact with her, not once the whole time. 

Devi nods, as if she had been expecting this. “Truth or dare?” 

“Truth.” 

“Do you want me to fuck you right now?” 

Devi leans forward and runs her thumb along the edge of his jaw. “You know the answer to that,” she murmurs, her eyes fluttering shut. 

His own eyes close, and yet, he can smell her so easily as he tips his head up, jasmine, strong. 

“I want to hear you say it,” he whispers. 

He pushes his hands up her back and tugs the straps of her bra down her shoulders, ducking his head down to press a kiss to her shoulder, exactly where the straps were.

“Ben,” she murmurs, shifting in his lap.

“Say it, Devi.” 

“I want you.” 

He nods, swallows roughly. Ben pushes her off of him slowly and stands up, holding a hand down to her. She takes it, and he pulls her up, watching her pupils dilate. 

“You want this.” It’s not a question. 

Devi tilts her head, walking backwards towards his bed, still holding his hand in hers and pulling him along.

“I do.” She answers it anyways. 

He leans forward and scrapes his teeth along her collarbone, fumbles with the clasp of her bra for a moment, as his hands are shaking so insanely. 

“I get why you do, Devi,” he breathes, pushing her down against the bed. 

“Hmm,” she says. “Why?” 

“Cause you know no one else can make you feel as good as I do,” he says, dropping kisses down the length of her body, easily. 

“The same goes for you, Ben,” she gasps, fingers digging into the sheets.

Ben presses a kiss to her hip as he pulls off the rest of her clothes, skating his fingers up her side. 

“Come up here,” she says. 

He listens, moving back up, and she nudges his face to the side and kisses his neck, before biting down gently, sucking a mark into his skin. 

“Devi,” he sighs. 

“What, Ben? You know I’m right. It’s not like you want anyone else but me.” 

(she’s not wrong. he has only ever wanted her, at the beginning of everything, up until now) 

He smirks into her neck. “You really think so?” 

“I know so.” 

“You wanna prove it?” 

She smirks, enjoying the challenge. “I don’t need to. I know I’m right.” 

“Well, I have an idea for that New Year’s Resolution I was telling you about before. And you can prove it at the same time,” he smirks, sliding his hands down her body and watching as her eyes flutter closed.

“Tell me,” she moans. 

“I fuck you,” he says, teeth snagging on her earlobe. “Whoever comes first loses.” 

“Loses what?” 

“Their dignity. And twenty bucks, if you really wanna get crazy about it.” 

Devi pulls back from him, shoving him back until he rolls over on his back. She straddles him, pressing her hands into his shoulders. “Isn’t that just prostitution, Gross?” 

He furrows his eyebrows, hands going to her hips to steady her. “...No?” 

She tosses her hair behind her shoulder, and she looks far too beautiful right now, on top of him, a goddess personified. 

“You sure you want to take on that challenge?” 

Ben shifts a bit so that he can sit up a bit more fully, shifting her further down into his lap, and then curling a hand around her neck, pulling her down for a kiss. 

She’s shocked, and stiffens against him for a second before settling into him, soft and supple. 

Ben slides a hand down her body and slips a finger into her, and she jerks against him in shock, breaking off from his mouth to moan. “Fuck,” she breathes, digging her fingers into his shoulders. “You’re—you’re cheating.” 

“We never specified when to start,” he argues. 

He pushes another finger into her, gently, and she arches, another moan shamelessly slipping from her mouth. “You’re—playing dirty.” 

He ducks under her jaw and bites on her jaw, sucking at the skin and enjoying the way her hands shake on his shoulders. “Ben,” she whimpers. “Ben, that’s—not fair.” 

“I don’t really fucking care,” he breathes, biting at her neck. Get her to use that concealer he bought her for Christmas. 

He moves his hand faster, pushing in and out of her, and she moans. “God, Ben, don’t—don’t cheat.” 

“I’m not cheating.” 

“You started without me,” she pants. “That’s cheating.” 

“You just don’t want to admit I’m winning already.” 

“Che—cheater,” she chokes out. 

“Do you want me to stop?” he murmurs, slowing down a bit. “Because I can. 

“Oh—fuck,” she breathes, digging her fingers tighter into his skin. “M—more,” she pleads, and it’s clear what she wants. So he speeds up the pace of his fingers and then shifts, pressing his thumb against her clit, and she falls apart in his arms. 

He watches her, drinking her in as she tosses her head back, hair tumbling down her back, thighs shaking as she comes. It’s been too long since he made her fall apart with his hands. He can barely hear her, the whisper of his name she lets out into the air, and it’s too quiet for him. He wants to hear her, doesn’t want her to be quiet.

“That doesn’t count,” she sighs, eyes fluttering open. 

“Agreed,” he says. 

Her eyes shoot open at that. “What?” She sounds slightly shocked, as if she was expecting him to fight it. 

He smirks. “You were a little too quiet.” 

Devi’s mouth drops open, and she raises her hand and smacks him in the chest. “What the fuck?” 

Ben shrugs. “You were too quiet, I said that already.” 

A challenge flashes in Devi’s eyes. “Screw you,” she breathes. 

With that, she curls her hands around his jaw and tugs him up for a kiss, messy and bruising, nails scraping at his cheeks. Her hands drag down his chest and rake nails down his body, and he hisses in pain against her mouth. 

“I know you want me,” she murmurs, biting on his lower lip and tugging it into her mouth. “You’re not very good at hiding it.” 

“Maybe I’m not trying to,” he smirks, and then flips her over. 

She gasps, and then he bites at the skin of her neck, sucking on it hard. Devi tosses her head back into the mattress, clutching at his hip. “B—Ben.”

Ben drags his teeth down the valley of her breasts and drags his thumb over the peak of her breasts, and she lets a small cry slip. “Come on, Devi,” he murmurs. “Let it out. Say my name.” 

Devi squeezes her eyes shut and arches against him. “Ben,” she says again. “Ben.” 

She says his name over and over again as he kisses her body, over every inch of her chest he can reach, and he relishes it, loses himself in the way she gasps out his name, the way it is breathy and high at other times and strangled at others, depending on where he kisses her. 

Ben keeps kissing her, hands trailing over every single inch of her body, when suddenly, he blinks, and finds himself on his back, Devi on top of him. 

She’s got her hands wrapped around his wrists, and he’s about to fight back when she rolls her hips into his, and he gasps, all other thoughts leaving his mind. “Fuck, Devi,” 

“Men are so easy to distract,” she smirks, snapping her hips harder into his. 

The friction has him seeing spots, vision blurring and spinning. He can barely focus on anything but her, on top of him, moving in a way that makes him want to pass out. 

“Devi, what the fu—fuck?” he chokes out. 

Devi smirks. “Tables are turned, Gross.” 

“Shit,” he swears, head falling back against the pillow as she grinds harder into him. “Devi, come on.” 

She hums, leaning down closer to him so her hair brushes against his skin. He can smell her, jasmine. “What do you want, Ben, hmm?” she laughs. “Do you want me to fuck you?” 

“You’re a fucking tease,” he bites out, sucking air into his lungs. His head’s spinning, blood pumping, and all he can think about is her, her, her. 

(jasmine and brown eyes and the curve of pink lips and a red blouse and wild, curling hair and family dinners and her smile and fingers dancing over a harp and her mouth pressed against his and her hand on his chest and malibu—) 

“Good,” she laughs. She presses harder down on him. “Get a taste of your own medicine for once.” 

“You are ridiculous,” he gasps, hips snapping up into hers, chasing something she’s not quite yet ready to give him. 

“Awww, you’ll get over it, Ben. Giving up your dignity so easily?” He thinks if she could, she would pat his cheek almost mockingly, and the thought makes him see red, and it’s enough to break from her hold and flip her over, sinking his teeth into the skin of her neck. 

She swears, violently jerking up into him. “Now the game is on,” he bites out. “We’ll see if you can keep up your promises. 

Devi whimpers when he reaches to the side and pulls out a condom, and he stares her in the eyes. “Wanna play?” 

She snarls at him. “I’m winning, Gross.” She plucks the condom out of his hand. “You’re such a dick, you know that?” 

“Then why do you keep sleeping with me?” he smirks. 

Devi rolls her eyes. “I guess you’re not  _ that _ bad. In bed, at least,” she admits. 

She slings her leg over his waist and rolls them back over, biting her lip as she looks at him. “Damn,” she says. 

Ben laughs, throwing his head up and shifting her so he can lean up and brush his lips against hers briefly. “Knew you were with me for my body, David.” 

“Oh, have I not made that clear?” she quips, rolling the condom on. “I thought you knew that, by now?” 

His hands tighten on her hips as she sinks down on him and—fuck, it’s so, so good. 

The champagne, he thinks, has loosened his tongue a bit, so he starts saying things to her he would never say before. 

“God, Devi,” he gasps, into her skin. “You feel fucking amazing.” 

She whimpers, rolls her hips into his slowly. “Dear god,” she gasps. 

He sinks his teeth into her shoulder, hard enough to leave a mark, and runs his tongue over the bite marks. “You’re beautiful when you come on my hands,” he murmurs, unable to hold back. “When you throw your head back, and say my name.” 

He pulls back for a split second to look at her and watches as her eyes flutter shut. He’s impossibly close already, but he’s not going to follow her. Not only does he want to win, but he’s never going to take his pleasure before hers, never going to put himself first here. 

Ben snaps his hips up. “Do you like it when I fuck you like this?” he growls. He slides his hands around her waist, fingers biting into her skin. “Because I do. I like the way you look on top of me and the way you shake when I make you come.” 

She leans forward and tips her forehead against his collarbone. “Don’t—don’t stop,” she begs. “Keep talking.” 

“You’re good about it too,” he whispers, into her ear. “You’re perfect, so soft and responsive.” As if to prove his point, he slides a hand down her body and rubs at her clit, and she sobs shamelessly into his shoulder, teeth dragging across his skin. “I like touching you here. I like the way you gasp when I fuck you with my fingers.” 

He can feel her getting closer, and closer, and she just needs a little more to push her over the edge. He knows her body better than anything else, he thinks, knows exactly how to tip her over the edge, how to push her past the breaking point.

“You make me feel so, so good,” she breathes. “Fuck, so good.” 

“Mostly,” he says, rubbing against her harder, one hand splayed across her back as she rolls into him, “I like the way you say my name when I make you come.” 

“Ben!” Her fingers grapple at his shoulders and she latches onto his neck with her teeth as she shatters, completely breaking apart. 

“That’s it,” he soothes. “I got you.” Ben grips her hips tightly, as she comes, walls fluttering around him, hand running up and down her back as his vision blurs and he succumbs to his own release. 

Devi moans and digs her nails into his back tighter, ignoring how scratches still marr it from a few days ago, and the pain is welcome, a reminder that he made her lose control so violently. 

She’s still panting into his neck when he comes back down from his own high, securely wrapped around him, legs shaking around his hips. “Don’t—don’t move,” she pants out. “I need a moment.” 

Ben will give her all the time she needs, all the time in the world, and so he waits for her, leaning forward and gently kissing up and down her neck until he reaches her ear. “Like I said,” he whispers, so low he can barely hear himself. “Beautiful.” 

She pulls back from him and looks him in the eyes, chocolate streaks swirling in the dark. 

(he’s never been able to understand how people see brown eyes as anything other than absolutely beautiful, anything other than deep and stunning. in devi’s eyes, he sees everything, everything that the world contains, deeper than the grand canyon and more stunning than any mountain, a depth of serenity that he has found nowhere else in the world. she is his favorite place to be) 

“Damn,” she mutters. “Never knew you could say that.” 

He huffs out a laugh, dropping his head forward, hair brushing against her collarbone. She runs her hand down his back and presses her cheek against his head. “You liked it.” He’s smug, but he thinks he’s got a right to be. After what just happened, that is. 

Watching her, it gives him more pride than anything else in the world, than winning any competition or beating anybody else for any title, even her. It is something only  _ he _ gets to see, the way she falls apart because of him. Only  _ he _ gets to hear her, and especially when she says his name. 

He’s got an ego, he knows that, but nothing is as good as watching Devi, as watching the way her lashes flutter closed and her mouth parts as she cries his name. Nothing is as gratifying, and he thinks it is because nothing else in the world is so reserved for him. 

(ben has had to share everything (that matters) in his life—ironically—for someone who has had so much. he has had to share his parents with random clients and had to lose his friends when he grew up, has had to share praise with his father’s commitments and has had to share his mother’s love. but this, devi, here, with him, that is not something he has to share, and he will never,  _ ever _ want to) 

“I make you feel good, huh?” he says. 

“You know the answer to that, Gross. I’m not saying it,” she sighs. 

“It’s fine, David,” he says, smirking. He drags his teeth over the hollow of her throat, and then over every inch of skin he can reach, sucking marks into her neck. “You’re pretty ok yourself.” 

Devi lets out a strangled laugh when he tugs down on her earlobe. “I’m better than ok, and you damn well know it, Ben.” 

“I don’t know, Devi. Where’s my twenty bucks?” 

She reaches over and smacks him lightly on the head. “You don’t need twenty more bucks, you're rich enough.” 

“True,” he smirks. “I’ll just take your dignity.” 

Instead of answering him, she just leans down and kisses him, tongue tangling with his again, and he kisses her back. 

“Midnight yet?” he murmurs, against her mouth. 

“Not quite yet,” she whispers. “We’ve got some time before the clock strikes twelve.” 

“Good.” And then he kisses her, and stops talking for a bit.

* * *

She finally pulls away from his mouth around 11:30, sure her lip gloss is destroyed beyond repair. Briefly, she considers reapplying it, but what use is that? Not when she’s here with him. 

Devi runs a hand through her hair and glances at Ben. “Can’t believe you got drunk on champagne, Gross. Always knew you were a lightweight.” 

He scowls at her. “Please, I could outdrink you any day.” 

Devi snorts, stretching her hands over her head. “Yeah, right. Beer is like, 5% alcohol, All those fruity drinks girls have at the bars is like, 20%.” 

Ben snorts. “Please.” 

“I’m sure you’ve got any measure of better drinks than champagne here, Gross. Prove it.” 

Ben quirky an eyebrow at her, but simply slides off the bed, silently. Devi watches as he pulls his boxers on and ducks out the door, and then reaches over for her phone. She slips out of bed and glances around for something to wear, settling on Ben’s t-shirt.

It’s warm and threadbare, and soft against her skin as she climbs back into bed, insanely loose around her shoulders. She resists the urge to bury her nose in it and turns her attention back to her phone, turning it on.

There are a few missed texts from Eleanor, with atrocious spelling and numerous references to musicals, clearly sent under the influence, and Devi feels her lips curl up into a smile at the antics of her best friend. 

“What are you grinning at, David?” Ben says, smirking as he enters the room once more. 

Devi glances upon and drops her phone back on the side table. “Eleanor’s drunk.” 

Ben laughs, bright and clear. “I bet that’s a sight.” 

She shakes her head, smiling faintly. “Check your phone. I’m sure you’ve got a slew of texts from her too.” 

Ben raises his eyebrows and hands her the bottle, reaching over to grab his phone. 

She turns the bottle over in her hands, smirking. “Vodka? Not a bad decision, Gross.” 

A smile appears on Ben’s face as he scrolls through his phone. “She got really wasted, huh?” 

“Gross,” Devi says, shaking the bottle. “Did you hear me?” 

“What?” Ben glances up and places his phone on the dresser on his side—no, not his side, just the dresser on that side—of the bed, pulling back the covers and climbing back in with her. 

“I said, you didn’t make a bad decision with the vodka. Unlike, you know, how you fucked up our amylase lab earlier.” 

Ben’s mouth drops open in shock. “Excuse me! You were the one who fucked things up. You based your hypothesis on the diet of your grandparents. That's way too recent to impact genetics."

“The diet of my grandparents is a perfectly accurate frame of reference, you just fucked up the temperature and ph of our amylase sample,” she shoots back.

“Excuse me, how did I do that? Also, were you raised by wolves? You come into my house, sleep with me, drink my booze, and then insult my lab capabilities? Sure know how to romance a guy, David,” he drawls, swiping at the bottle. 

Devi jerks it out of reach and glares at him. “Please. Even you aren’t so dumb to not know that if the temperature or pH fluctuate too much, that means the protein will denature. Less amylase was broken down as a result, so the measured concentration will be lower, duh.” 

He rolls his eyes. “I’m in the class too, David.” 

“Wouldn’t know it with your test scores.” 

“We’re literally lab partners!” 

“Not by choice.” 

He laughs, finally grabbing the bottle from her. “Please. I’m well aware that we had the chance to switch lab partners for second quarter, and you just chose not to. Face it, David. You like working with me.” 

She tries for the bottle again, but he holds it out of reach. “Don’t get a big head about it, Gross. I’m light-years ahead of you, of course, but quantum years ahead of everyone else.” 

“I don’t think quantum years are a thing.” 

“You seriously wanna talk about astrophysics right now?” She quirks an eyebrow at him. “I’m mostly naked in your bed.” 

“We already had sex. Plus, just putting the word quantum in front of it doesn’t make it astrophysics, you know that.” He smirks, and she groans. 

“Whatever.” 

His mouth turns up into a smile. “So, what do you wanna play?”

Devi raises an eyebrow. “You wanna play another game with this?” 

He shrugs. “Truth or dare worked pretty well, didn’t it? If it got us here.” His eyes drag down her body, and everything necessary is covered up by his shirt or the comforter, but she still feels like he can see right through her, to her soul, 

(it’s something that only ben, really, has ever been able to do, look right through her, past her blustering and deflection and walls that she keeps up, thirty-five feet tall and ten feet thick. everyone else—save her father—has to pass a written exam and go through years of trials and tribulations, but ben smashes them down effortlessly, with the upturning of his lips or the gleam of his eyes. she used to hate it. she used to love it. now she’s not sure how she feels about it)

“Too fucking tired to sleep with you again, Gross,” she grumbles, reaching for the bottle again and finally managing to swipe it from him. 

“I wore you out, didn’t I? How do you feel? Ravaged? Satisfied? Plundered? Razed?” 

“Try irritated. Provoked. Irked. Predilected towards murder, perhaps, of a eighteen year old white guy,” she deadpans back. 

“Nice SAT vocab word. Course, I still did better.” 

“You’re such an ass.” 

“Try and use that one brain cell of yours to come up with a new insult one of these days, David. Something a bit more creative, maybe.”

Devi unscrews the cap of the bottle and takes a sip, coughing as the strong drink makes its way down her throat. “I’m already prone to drinking around you, and you’re just making it worse.” 

Ben grabs the bottle from her. “You have to wait until we start the game, David,” he says, scowling. 

Devi groans and settles back against the pillows, tipping her head back. “Ben, it’s 11:30. I don’t wanna get up and do dares.” 

“Me neither.” 

“So what, are we just gonna play a game of “Truth or Truth?” I’m not taking this shirt off, by the way,” she adds, seeing the mirth dancing in his eyes, “so you can eliminate your dumb, “strip Truth or Truth” idea.” 

“What?” he says, smirking. “Think you’re too chicken?” 

“I just don’t see the need to tell you everything about my goddamn life, Gross.” 

He rolls his eyes. “David, fine. You can tell me whatever you want. Just—do you wanna do this?” 

Devi bites her lip. “Fine. But I want to ask the first question again.” 

“Go for it.” 

“Cats or dogs?” 

“Cats,” he answers. He swipes the bottle from her and sips, wincing. He swipes the back of his hand across his mouth and hands it back to her. “What about you?” 

“Dogs, obviously, like any sane person.” 

Ben laughs, shaking his head wryly. “Of course, David.” 

Devi taps her fingernails against the side of the glass bottle, the clink audible in the air. “Would you rather be cold or hot?” 

“Hot. Who would ever want to be cold?” 

“You can’t deal with the heat effectively, though!” she protests. “If you’re cold, you can just layer and layer.” 

Ben rolls his eyes. “Of course you would see it that way, David.” He takes his sip and hands it back to her. “Coke or Pepsi?” 

“Coke,” she scoffs. “Is that even a question?” Devi relishes the way the drink burns as she takes another sip, her head getting a little foggy. 

“Glad to see you have taste in something, David.” 

“Coffee or tea?” she asks him. 

He takes another sip of the vodka, and when he speaks, his voice is slightly slurred, just the smallest amount. “Tea, obviously. You know that.” 

She wrinkles her nose. “Was hoping you might have dropped some of your pretentiousness in the past few weeks.” 

“Appreciating the finer things in life doesn’t make someone pretentious, David.” 

“No, but being an ass about it does,” she quips. 

Ben rolls his eyes so hard she’s worried they’ll fall out of his head. “Whatever. Fiction or nonfiction?” 

“Fiction,” she says, taking another sip. She hiccups, already feeling the effects of the drink. “I like stories.” 

“Yeah, but non-fiction is educational stories,” he points out. 

Devi traces a circle on his arm, following the veins in his forearm up to the crook of his elbow and back down again. “Yeah, but I don’t know, there’s something about reading about fictional words and people they don’t exist that draws me in. There’s a lot of potential in that.” 

She looks up to see his blue eyes almost glowing in the dim light of his room. “Fair enough,” he says, nodding. 

“Poetry or music?” she asks. 

Ben’s fingers brush hers as he reaches for the bottle, and although she’s wearing his shirt and nothing else in his bed, and he’s no more than an inch away, it still sends shivers down her spine. “Music.” 

“But music is just poetry set to rhythm!” 

“If you’re gonna argue with me on all of these, David, why are you even asking me about them?” 

Devi grumbles at him. “Fine, whatever.” 

Ben smirks at her. “Ok, ok.” He pauses. “Sweet breakfast or savory breakfast?” 

She bites her lip, thinking about it. “Savory. Indian breakfasts tend to be savory and since I grew up eating that, that’s what I like. But I’ll never say no to waffles or Cocoa Puffs.” After taking another sip, she hands him the bottle. 

He snorts. “Of course, you would choose waffles. Predictable.” 

Devi scowls at them. “Oh, what, you’re a pancake lover? Please, Gross, everyone knows waffles are the superior item. There’s literally places on the food to put syrup and fruits and chocolate chips.” 

“Actually David, that’s where you’re wrong. It’s French toast for me.” 

Her eyebrows shoot up. “Really? Oh. Damn.” 

Ben laughs, smirking at her. “You hate that you agree with me, don’t you?” 

“Shut up,” she mumbles, punching him lightly in the arm. “Would you want to live in the city or the country?” 

As he furrows his brows, looking for the best answer, she realizes this has simply devolved into them asking their opinions on things for one another, but she likes it. She likes learning about Ben, all the things he likes. 

(the vodka is getting her drunk faster than she thought and she really doesn’t want to think about why that is, why she leans closer to him to hear his voice, why he still smells like sandalwood.)

“City, I think,” he answers finally. “I just—I’m not really one for the country all the time. Plus, I like take-out. It is beautiful, though.” 

She runs her tongue across her lip and watches as his throat bobs when he swallows. “I like the city too,” she says, softly. 

Ben’s eyes lock with hers, slightly glazed from the vodka, and she can see a drop glistening on his lip. She wants to lean forward and kiss him, to taste the bitterness of it off of his tongue. She has no doubt it would be even more intoxicating then. 

“Space or the ocean?” he asks her, softly. 

“The ocean,” she replies, instantly, staring into his eyes. 

“Why?” 

(she wants to say, because it is the same color as your eyes, and whenever i look into your eyes i feel like there is so much more to find, and i have always been curious about the world but i think i want to sit here and look at you until i feel like i’m calm again, until i find what i have been searching for my whole life, and i used to love the stars more than the sea when i was little but you’re so much more closer than them and a hell of a lot brighter and—)

“I like the beach,” she says simply. It’s a pathetic, noncommittal answer, and she knows Ben can tell it’s a lie, but he lets it go. 

She takes a longer swig of the bottle, head swimming as the vodka pools in her stomach, and turns to him. “What about you?” 

Ben takes the bottle in one hand and pulls the neckline of his t-shirt off her shoulder with another, curling a strand of her hair around his finger, brushing against her skin. “Space.” 

She asks him, this time. “Why?” 

His eyes flicker up to meet hers before bounding back down to his hand, where he’s wrapping her hair around his finger, over and over again. “I never felt alone when I was looking at the stars.” 

Devi stares at him. “How long has it been?” 

Ben stiffens. “How long has it been since what?” 

“Since you’ve felt alone,” she says. 

This has to be the vodka talking, because they are veering into extremely dangerous territory, parts of themselves they don’t tell anyone. 

Blame it on the alcohol. Tried and tested. 

“I don’t want to answer that,” he says, and then takes a heavy swig of the vodka. He shoves the bottle at her, slumping back against the sheets. 

“Ben.” 

When he turns to look at her, his eyes are bloodshot, from the booze, or struggling to hold back tears, she’s not sure. She hates that she’s not sure. “How long has it been?” 

Ben laughs bitterly, running his hand over his face. “Well, that would fucking imply that it stopped, right, Devi?” 

Devi’s heart stops in her chest, just going from a steady 60-odd beats per minute to 0. “Ben, you—” 

He looks at her. “Don’t, Devi. Please.” 

She wants so badly to reach out to him and wrap him in her arms, to hold him close and let her pain bleed into him. He doesn’t deserve it, and it hurts her that he hurts and she takes from him. He’s going to keep giving himself, going to keep giving himself to all the people he cares about—his parents, her—and he’s never going to ask for anything in return. 

But she’s a coward. She’s the coward, in this relationship, not strong enough to comfort him like he needs, not strong enough to be there for him like he is for her. 

(she hates herself, so much, for what she is doing to him. she’s not blind. ben’s got a huge heart, and she’s somehow, impossibly, made him care for her, even though he shouldn’t, and so he wants to help her. and it’s not even that she doesn’t care for him, she does, so much so that it makes her heart hurt, but it’s that she’s never been brave enough to show him in the same way)

So, instead of saying what she really wants to, she takes the bottle from him and takes a swig. “Why are you fucking like this?” she mutters, tracing the label on the bottle. 

“Like what?” 

Devi takes another sip, well aware she’s wasted, probably ridiculously drunk already. She needs more, for the conversation she’s about to have. “So fucking pathetic,” she mutters. 

Ben flinches away from her, pain bleeding in his red-rimmed eyes, and he grabs the bottle from her. “Fuck you, Devi,” he mutters, tipping the bottle back. 

She groans, pressing a hand to her head. “No, no, that’s not the right word, I’m s—sorry,” she says, hiccuping. 

Fuck, she’s so drunk. “You’re—you’re not pathetic,” she says. “It’s pathetic that I—I can’t do anything for you. Like, you fucking do everything for me.” 

Ben looks at her, soft, open, drunk. “Devi.” 

She’s full on rambling, now, completely at the behest of the alcohol pumping in her body. “You’re fucking—everything, and I’m nothing.” 

“You’re not not—nothing, Devi,” he mumbles. “You’re amazing. Brilliant. So smart it makes my head spin.” 

Ben takes another sip, grimacing. “I used to hate you for it.” 

Devi frowns at him, rubbing at her eyes. Her stomach swirls, nauseous, and she thinks her vision is a bit blurry. “Used to?” 

“Not anymore,” he mumbles. Devi looks at the vodka. She should not have another sip. Should not. 

She swipes it from him, takes the tiniest one possible, and then scrabbles around for the cap, screwing it on and dropping the bottle so it gently clinks against the floor. “Truth or Truth, Gross,” she slurs, leaning back against the pillows and blinking up at the ceiling, trying to steady herself. “Spit it the fuck out.” 

“Used to hate you cause you took away chances for me to prove to my dad I was worthy,” he mumbles out. “Used to hate you cause he would look at me just a little longer for a first place trophy than a second place one. Used to hate you because you were smart and pretty and everybody liked you, and nobody liked me.” 

Devi feels like she’s going to throw up from his words—oh, wait, no, that’s just the alcohol.

She bolts off the bed and hurls over the toilet, heaving her guts out.

By some grace of god, her hair doesn’t fall too badly in her face, and since she hasn’t eaten much, it comes up easy. Devi finished hurling her guts out and feels infinitely better after the fact, although she still feels a bit queasy, a bit unsteady on her feet. 

(from what ben just told her, or the vodka still in her veins, she doesn’t know)

She rinses her mouth out and finds an unopened toothbrush, brushing her teeth and swishing her mouth with mouthwash before slowly stumbling back to bed. 

Ben’s exactly where she left him, sitting up in bed, shoulders hunched over, tracing little circles into the bedspread. “You don’t feel sick?” she groans, sliding back into bed. 

He shakes his head. “Maybe,” he mumbles. “I don’t know.” 

Devi cocks her head to the side, tired eyes running over him. 

Ben runs a hand through his hair, letting it linger at the nape of his neck. 

(she’s loved mythology for years, has been obsessed with tales of the greek gods and immortals, of hubris and passion and tragedy, and looking at ben right now, she cannot help but think that he resembles the heroes of old. stone shoulders and a strong back, and yet, a face with eyes that hold more than the world will ever know. ben’s eyes are like the ocean in more than just color—they hold depths to them she will never, ever discover, no matter how long she searches. he looks like atlas for a moment, she thinks, the weight of the world resting on his back, carrying it without a word, a silent suffering.

(but that is not right, is it? atlas is too old and too powerful to be ben. he is more like achilles, she decides, legendary hero doomed to fall because of love and duty. love and duty for  _ whom, _ though her heart questions) 

if he is achilles, then devi, devi knows she is icarus, flying too close to the sun, testing the boundaries of her wings. but people forget that icarus did not only fly too high, he flew too low, fascinated by the sea. devi has always thought it was the sky he longed for, but looking at ben now, she knows what icarus really wanted was the waves. she is icarus, flying both too high, and too low, and there will be a moment when the wax melts from her wings and she will fall, fall with only the cold embrace of the ocean—his eyes—to catch her) 

“Ben,” she whispers, voice hoarse from throwing up and the vodka. “Do you still hate me?” 

“Course not,” he says instantly. He will not look at her, though, and she aches to take her hands and slide them around his jaw, to cup his cheeks and stroke them with her thumbs. Even bloodshot, his eyes are beautiful, and she wants to look into them, to be a comfort for him. 

Devi does stupid things when she’s drunk, and there’s no sense in destroying her track record now. 

So she reaches a hand out and pulls Ben closer, tucks his face into her neck. “Why not?” 

He lets out a shuddering breath against her collarbone, one that rattles and aches. She imagines his ribcage shaking, like the branches of a willow tree in the wind, as he breathes, in and out.

“I don't feel as lonely when I’m with you,” he mumbles. “I can’t hate you for that.” 

He’s so drunk, Devi knows neither of them will remember these words in the morning, neither of them will remember much beyond the first few sips of alcohol, but still, she savors the words. 

They taste like the vodka on her tongue, bitter, but intoxicating. Devi runs her hand through his hair, down his back. “And what about the other stuff?” 

“I stopped hating you in like, eighth grade, David,” he mumbles out. “I grew up.” 

Now, Devi pulls his face away from her neck, tilting his head up to face hers. Ben is slumped against the pillows, half lying down, and she’s sitting up, so they’re not sitting eye level, right now. 

He looks more open than she’s ever seen him, more tired and drunk and angry, a thousand other emotions she cannot quite place swirling in his eyes. 

He looks, she realizes with a start, like her. 

Ben does not crack himself open like she does, in the same way. It is the one glaring, fundamental difference between them. Devi cannot help but let her emotions overwhelm her, cannot help but release them, cannot help but  _ feel _ them, painfully, viciously, almost viscerally so. He cannot help but shove them down, and lock them away, hiding them behind walls that no one can get past. It is something she resents herself for—that Ben can smash through all her walls with ease, and she cannot do the same to him. 

“That’s not the whole truth,” she murmurs. “You’ve not lied to me, Ben. Don’t, now, please.” 

Ben sighs, letting his eyes slip shut, and he turns his face into her palm. “I wanted everything you had so badly, Devi. It was so easy to hate you, you know? You were beautiful, you had two amazing best friends, you had parents who loved you with everything they were. You had stuff beyond us, but—I just had you.” 

Her thumb drifts over his nose, drawing a line down it, and her breath is lodged firmly in her throat. 

“And then, I don’t know, I just realized hating you was exhausting. I never really hated you. I just told myself I did. Plus, it was ridiculously immature of me to blame you for the fact that my father hardly gave a crap about anything I did.” 

“You were thirteen, Ben,” she murmurs. 

“Still. Shouldn’t have done that. I was a straight up dick to you for like, ten straight years.” 

Devi opens her mouth to say something else, but she recognizes the queasy expression on Ben’s face. “Go,” she urges him. 

He bolts off the bed, and Devi winces in sympathy when she can hear him throwing up, much like her. She waits for him to come back to bed, waits for him to come back, and when he finally does—having brushed his teeth and washed his face, much like her—he looks much better. 

He stops, staring at the rumpled sheets on his bed. 

“Ben,” she murmurs, softly. “It’s fine.” 

He sways a bit, rubbing the back of his neck with his arm. “I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable. I can just—crash in like a million other rooms.” 

Devi reaches a hand out, slowly, and pats the space next to her. “Ben. Come back to bed.”

Ben looks at her, sad, drunk, and a bit fucked up. She feels the exact same way. 

Climbing back into bed, he lies down, looking at her. “I was such a dick to you,” he mumbles. “How can you ever forgive me for that?” 

She leans down and brushes the hair on his forehead back, over and over again, the motion soothing. He closes his eyes as she does. “Because of Malibu,” she whispers. 

(they won’t remember this in the morning. they won’t remember any of this, and so it makes her a little braver. it’s cowardly courage, born out of alcohol and late night confessions and his bloodshot blue eyes, looking into hers. it’s a lot easier to tell someone something when you know they’re not going to remember it) 

“And I forgave you a long time before that, I think,” she whispers, continuing. “Way back around Model UN. Or that dinner we had.” 

“I thought you hated me.” 

“I did,” she confesses. “I thought you were a spoiled dick of a rich kid.” 

“You weren’t wrong.” 

“I was.”

Ben’s eyes flutter open, and they look slightly less bloodshot now, though still glassy, like the sheen of a bottle. “How? How were you wrong?” 

Devi bites her tongue, wondering how to say this properly. “Hating you was more habit than anything. And I guess—after my dad died, I needed something normal to hold onto. You were my normal. Hating you was easy.” 

“I am a very easily hateable person,” he quips. 

“You’re not,” she whispers. “You’re a good person who doesn’t let people see that.” 

Ben sighs. “You really think I’m like that?” 

“You took me in. You didn’t tell anyone my lies, even though I said you did. I never apologized to you for that.” 

“I never apologized for calling you a UN.” 

“I’m sorry, Ben.” 

“I’m sorry, Devi.” 

“And I was wrong about you because once I stopped hating you, I couldn’t make myself hate you again. No matter how hard I tried. I couldn’t look at you in the same way.” 

(as much as she wants to deny it, things changed, after—after that week at his house. after malibu. after she ran, and he didn’t follow. it has been the one—and only—time he did not chase after her, and she wonders what she would have done had he) 

“So you didn’t like me, but you didn’t hate me?” 

“I definitely did not hate you.” 

“Really?” he murmurs.

Devi’s lips quirk up. “Well, obviously, Gross. I don’t give $5 to people I hate.” 

Ben huffs a laugh, turning his face so it’s pressed into her side. “What time is it?” he mumbles. 

Devi glances at the clock. “11:58.” 

“Almost the New Year. Hope it’s better than the last.” 

Devi leans over and grabs her phone, while Ben struggles to push himself up into a sitting position. Her hands slip on the keyboard, and she misspells everything in her drunken stupor, but she still manages to navigate to a livestream of New Year’s celebrations in LA, as the ball dropped in New York three hours earlier. 

“Well,” she murmurs, looking at the screen, “twenty seconds left.” 

Ben looks at her. “Happy New Year, Devi,” he murmurs. 

She can’t resist reaching a hand out, cupping his cheek, and kissing him at midnight—that’s never something they’d agreed on. It’s too couple-y, too affectionate for them, blurs the lines too much. 

(but she’s wrapped in his bedsheets and t-shirt and his hair is tousled from her hands and she knows so much more about him and—) 

“Happy New Year, Ben.” 

He leans forward to kiss her, and her eyes flutter shut. But he does not, does not kiss her quite yet, and she realizes he is waiting for her, for her ok. 

So she moves closer to him, slides her hand down his chest, feeling the pounding of his heartbeat underneath her palm, and tilts her head up, so her nose brushes his. She can hear the countdown on her phone, which she lets slip from her palm. 

As the countdown hits one, Ben leans forward and covers her mouth with his, a slow, drugging kiss that draws every single emotion out of her chest. For a split second, she thinks she is going to cry, and then laugh with joy, and then yell with anger, and then she settles, sighing into his mouth and kissing him back. 

Devi kisses him slowly, savors him, and she doesn’t pull away. She tilts her head to the side, kissing him harder, appreciating the way his hand digs into her hair. She just breaks away for a second before diving back in. As soon as she stops kissing him, the moment is over. As soon as she stops kissing him, that means all of this ends. 

She won’t let it end, not so easily. 

So she keeps kissing him, and focuses on the steady, sure way his heart thumps against her palm. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> your comments and kudos make me happier than devi drinking chocolate milk! come talk to me about the show! you can find me on tumblr: @[parkersedith](https://parkersedith.tumblr.com)


	9. act ix: even when the weather is low, you’re a beautiful thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He’s wrecked her._
> 
> _Part of Devi wants to think this isn’t possible, that Ben, unwittingly, could wreck her so fully, but in her heart she knows he’s always been able to._
> 
> _(typhoons, hurricanes, cyclones, different names for the same destruction swirling in his eyes. there is a reason storms are named after people)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is brought to you by leila's immunology spiral and rose's fantastic trumpet playing
> 
> i swear to god my teeth rotted from the amount of fluff in this chapter so i hope the same happens to you. this might highkey be the softest chapter in the entire fic and is like, lowkey a filler?? but who cares lmao they banter and are very soft i know none of you guys are complaining about that
> 
> i know i usually thank leila but like, we _really_ have to thank leila for this chapter, coming in clutch with the science AND the music, a multitalented queen that i stan. leila, thank you so much, this chapter has been basically co-written _by_ you and is a love letter to you, featuring your favorite things: science and soft banter
> 
> ugh guys i had such a fun time writing this chapter, it is just so incredibly soft and was really enjoyable to write. ironically i wrote some of the really soft moments while watching a documentary on ancient rome, because what really makes me think about the softest forms of human expression is watching julius caesar get stabbed 23 times
> 
> oh and ben plays piano cause i'm a whore for hands. that's it thank you and good night
> 
> (chapter title from “beautiful thing” by grace vanderwaal) 
> 
> thank you guys so much!! enjoy!!!

She starts worrying when she doesn’t get a response on Friday night. 

Devi picks up her phone, chewing at her lip as she scrolls through her messages with Ben. 

He hasn’t responded to her text for a few hours. And, Devi’s not clingy, not by a long shot, but she’s gotten to know Ben’s texting habits. He doesn’t ever make her wait long for a response, no more than 15 minutes, at most. 

Maybe he’s just—weirdly busy with something. 

So she sets her phone aside and heads downstairs to watch a movie with her mother, something that they’ve been trying to do weekly now that it’s just the two of them in the house.

And her mother picks out a good movie, she does, but the whole time, Devi can’t stop thinking about Ben, can’t stop worrying about him. Why isn’t he responding to her? 

She goes back up to her room after the movie and glances at her phone again, the worry in her pit intensifying when she sees she doesn’t have any new messages from him. 

Picking up her phone, she slides over to his contact, thumb hovering over the call button. They’re friends, so this—it isn’t weird, right? It’s definitely not. 

But for some reason, Devi still can’t bring herself to hit the button. She groans in frustration and locks her phone, plugging it in before flopping back on her bed. 

Since—since New Year’s, she’s not exactly sure how to act around Ben. She doesn’t remember much after the beginning questions of the second round of Truth or Dare, but she does remember what he told her. About always feeling lonely. 

(is he lonely right now? shouldn’t she be there with him, shouldn’t she spend a little more of her time with him? even thinking about the fact that ben could be lonely right now hurts her, because he should never, ever have to feel lonely, after all the years he spent coming home to an empty house and flighty parents. not now, not that he has her. but does he really  _ have _ her?) 

Devi buries her head underneath her pillow, trying to think things through, but she must be more exhausted than she thought, because when she opens her eyes again, the sun is shining through her window. 

She groans, holding her head as she sits up, blinking slowly. 

Devi drags herself into her bathroom, brushing her teeth and hair before heading back to her room, sitting cross-legged on her bed as she grabs her phone, hoping Ben had texted her while she was asleep. 

She scrolls through all her messages, and the uncertain feeling in the pit of her stomach only intensifies when she realizes he hasn’t texted her all night. 

That’s enough to push her to call him. 

She holds the phone to her ear, letting it ring, and paces around her room, worried for him. It rings, and rings, and rings, until it eventually goes to voicemail, and Devi almost throws her phone against her floor in frustration, just managing to direct her throw to her bed so her phone bounces against it harmlessly instead of smashing into pieces on the hardwood. 

“Fuck,” Devi mutters. “Ok, ok.” 

She grabs a pair of jeans and a t-shirt and quickly takes a shower, grabbing her things and shoving them into her purse and heading downstairs. 

Her mother is at the kitchen table when Devi shows up, sipping a cup of coffee. “You’re dressed early,” Nalini remarks, casually, but Devi can hear the question in her mother’s voice. 

“Uh, Ben’s not responding to my texts or calls, Mom.” 

Nalini’s expression shifts instantly from interest to concern. “That’s not usual for him?” 

Devi shakes her head. “No, never this long.” She twists her hands around one another. “I’m worried for him. I was hoping I might be able to go check on him.” 

Nalini nods. “Yes, of course. I’m proud of you, Devi. That’s quite kind of you, caring for a friend.” She offers Devi a small smile. “Do you need a ride?” 

She shakes her head. “No, I was just going to take an Uber. I’ll call you if I need any help?” 

Her mother nods. “Please let me know how Benjamin is doing.” Her mouth dips into a frown. “I feel so bad for that boy.” 

Swallowing roughly, Devi nods. “Yeah, of course, Mom. I’ll be back later.” 

“Stay safe, kanna,” Nalini calls, as Devi leaves the house. 

She’s not going to take an Uber, as he lives so close, so she just sets off on foot, hoping the walk will calm herself down. She navigates to his messages and sees that they’re still unanswered, for the past 13 hours. It’s never taken this long for Ben to reply. Devi taps at her phone aimlessly as she walks, trying to breathe. 

When she reaches his house, her worry only intensifies when she sees his car in the driveway. She’d been hoping maybe he’d gone out on a drive—although that was so out of character for Ben, it was funny—and that he’d just left his phone out, but if he’s been home the whole—whole time? 

At least she’s a bit more sure he’s not been in a car accident. 

Devi bounds up the steps to the front of his house and knocks on the front of the door, bouncing up and down on her heels while she waits for him to answer. 

He doesn’t, and at this point, she’s so worried she can’t wait any longer. 

Trying the doorknob, she’s mildly surprised to find it unlocked. Ben usually only leaves it unlocked whenever he knows she’s going to come over, but he shouldn’t be expecting her now. 

Stepping into the house, Devi can’t help but flash back to New Year’s, a very similar situation to this. 

That—that night had changed a lot of things. She’d been forced to confront a painful truth—that she had wreaked a lot of destruction in the wake of Malibu. If he’d felt less lonely with her around, with her at his house, she doesn’t even want to  _ think _ about how badly she had made him feel after she ran. 

Pushing those thoughts out of her mind, Devi glances around the house stepping a bit further into the foyer. “Ben?” she calls. 

She gets no response. 

A sick feeling bubbling up in the back of her throat, Devi decides to check his room, first. 

Walking up the stairs, she knocks on his door, which is shut. “Ben?” she calls, a bit softer. 

She hears a sound inside, and tries the doorknob, swinging the door open. 

There’s no light save for the sunlight streaming in through the windows, and Ben, slumped on his front, deathly pale and sickly sweaty in the middle of the bed, fast asleep. 

“Oh, Ben,” she murmurs. 

Devi walks forward and crouches next to him, running her hand down his face. “Ben,” she says again. 

He stirs at the sound of his name. “Patty?” 

Devi smiles softly. “Try again, Gross.” 

Ben’s eyes flicker open blearly. “De—Devi?” he coughs. 

“Gold star.” Devi runs her hands through his hair, which is tousled and tangled, still soft but a bit messy. “How do you feel?” 

Ben breathes in, wheezing, sitting up fully. “Fine,” he says, rubbing at his eyes. “You can—you can go home.” 

Devi frowns. “Ben, you most certainly do not look fine. You look like someone ran you over with a car.” 

He smirks at her, although it’s really more of a momentary curl of his lips. “Still find me hot?”

“You look disgusting,” she mutters. “And exhausted.” 

Ben coughs again, reaching over to grab his phone. “I’m fine, David.” 

“You haven’t responded to my text messages for like, half a day.” 

“Aww,” Ben teases. “You were worried.” 

She scowls at him, completely unwilling to let him see how right he is. “I wanted to make sure you hadn’t been like, murdered, or something. I’d have to thank the killer, get him some flowers for eliminating an annoying pest.” 

“Annoying pest? More like God’s gift to manki—kind,” he coughs.

“Well, you’re an annoying pest who’s got a fever,” she says, pressing her hand against his forehead. 

“I’m fine, David,” Ben says. He pushes the blankets off of his body and swings his legs up off the bed, standing up before sitting back down immediately. Devi stands up and presses her hands against his shoulders. 

“You’re not fine, Ben. Your body is—” 

“Incredibly hot? Unreal? Perfect?” he snickers. 

Devi groans, slapping her hand against her forehead. “God, save me.” 

Ben laughs, low and hoarse. “David, I promise, I’m fine. I’ve got a bunch of stuff to do anyways, so you can leave.” 

He makes to stand up again, but Devi shoves him back down on the bed and plants her hands on her hips. “Oh, no, Gross, you’re not going anywhere. What do you think, you’re going to get stuff done today?” 

She steps back and closes a few of the curtains, letting the sunlight shine through them instead of directly into Ben’s eyes. “You know that you’re feeling lethargic because of an evolutionary response to being sick, right? Like, the whole reason you want to stay inside and recuperate is because you can’t go outside and infect other people.” 

Ben’s eyes flutter shut, and he runs his hand over his face. “Devi, I have things to do. I’m  _ fine.” _

“You’re not fine, Ben! God, right now, your body needs rest, so that it can conserve energy to fight off infection.” She runs her hand through his hair again, frowning when she feels him lean into her touch, unwittingly. “In fact, cytokines can literally bind to your brain and influence your behavior, you know.” 

“How do you know my body isn’t favoring a wound-healing response cause I’m so athletic and well toned?” he smirks, leaning forward and letting his forehead rest against her stomach. 

“Did you get a flu shot?” she asks, rubbing her hand up and down his back. 

“Of course I did, David. I’m not going to risk this illness knocking me out of commission any longer than it needs to.” 

“So you admit you’re sick.” 

“Just a little,” he sighs. 

“Ben, your body is undergoing an innate immune response, which is carried out by the—” 

“Macrophages phagocytosing the bacteria, Devi, I know. A lovely image, don’t you think?” 

“It’s an exhausting response that takes up a lot of energy. That’s also part of the reason you feel so crappy.” She pulls his face away from her and rubs her thumbs over his cheeks, cupping his jaw in her hands. “You need to get some rest, ok?” 

Ben’s hands curl around her wrists, gently shoving them away. “I’ll be fine, Devi,” he murmurs. 

He stands up, swaying slightly. “I’ve taken care of myself before when I’ve gotten sick. I’m used to it.” 

Devi crosses her arms. “What about Patty?” 

Ben waves his hand as he slowly walks over to his dresser, dismissive. “It’s her day off,” he yawns. “I didn’t want to bother her.” 

She stares at him. When—whenever she had gotten sick—even  _ now, _ when she gets sick—her parents had taken care of her. Her father, in particular, often had taken the day off of work to stay at home with her. Her mother doesn’t go that far, partially because Devi’s not a little child anymore, but she’ll still take care of her. Still give her medicine and make her soup. 

“Your parents?” she whispers, already knowing the answer. 

He shakes his head. “Somewhere or another. I don’t want to bother them.” 

“Ben,” she says, stepping forward. “Don’t you know overblown inflammatory responses can be so dangerous? They can cause heart disease, some cancers, and pneumonia.” 

“I don’t think I’m gonna get cancer from the flu, David,” he says dryly, pulling out some clothes. 

“Pneumonia, Ben!” she insists. “That’s scary stuff.” 

“I’m sure it is,” he sighs, and—why the hell is he not taking this more seriously? 

“Pneumonia is caused when our immune system tries to attack the lungs by releasing cytokines, to open blood vessels, but when you do you also end up releasing water molecules into your lungs since they’re smaller than macrophages and neutrophils.” She feels sick, sick to her stomach at the thought of that happening to Ben. “You could drown.” 

“Terrifying.” 

“Ben!” she shrieks. “Why aren’t you taking this stuff more seriously? You need to take care of yourself better, god!” 

“I’ve been doing just fine for the past few years, Devi.” Something in his tone makes her stop cold, makes a shiver run down her spine, as the pieces slowly fall into place. 

“When was the last time someone took care of you when you were sick?” 

Ben turns to face her, face pale and gaunt. “I don’t know. Maybe like—elementary school?” He smirks at her, although the gesture is performative, empty behind his eyes. “I don’t usually get sick, I’ve got such a great immune system. Like Rosa Diaz.” 

She crosses her arms. “Fine. Go take a shower.” 

“Yes, that’s why I’m carrying a bunch of clothes right now, David,” he groans. 

Ben shuffles into the bathroom without another word, shutting the door behind him. As soon as he vanishes, Devi sighs, planting her hands on her hips and looking around the room. 

Such a fucking idiot, god. 

(she already knows, in some deep, dark part of her, that she can’t bear to leave him like this, vulnerable. she knows she’s not going to. even though there was only a slight chance anything really, really bad could happen, there was still a chance, and she doesn’t want to think about the possibility that she leaves and something really bad happens to him and she’s not here and—) 

Devi pushes those errant thoughts out of her mind and gets to work. 

She pulls all of the sheets and covers off of Ben’s bed, snorting when she catches sight of the thread count. Rich jackass. 

She remembers where the linen closet is from when she lived at his house from sophomore year—why can’t she seem to forget a single thing that happened that week?—and grabs a new set of sheets, quickly fitting them over the bed again. 

She’s just finished making the bed and sending a text off her mom that everything’s ok and she’ll be at his place for a bit longer when he steps out of the bedroom, dressed in flannels and a loose t-shirt. He looks a bit better, the warm water having artificially infused color into his cheeks, but still tired. His hair is wet, the fabric over his shoulders damp. 

“W—what are you doing?” he croaks out. 

Devi walks over to him and gently skates her hand up his back, pressing it into the space between his shoulder blades. “Come on, Ben. Go to sleep.” 

He shakes his head, like a little kid. “I’m fine.” 

“You need to get some rest.” She shoves him forward gently, and she knows he’s absolutely exhausted because he doesn’t even fight her, not for a moment. “Come on.” 

He pulls back the covers and lies down, eyes fluttering. “Will you stay?” 

(she shouldn’t she shouldn’t she shouldn’t) 

“Of course,” she murmurs. “I’m not leaving you alone to die without checking first, Gross.” 

Ben chuckles, his eyes locking with her. “Cool.” 

He sighs, looking at the ceiling. “You can—watch something on my laptop, if you want.” 

Devi reaches over and grabs his laptop, flipping it open. “Want to choose it together?” 

Ben turns his head, closing his eyes, tucking his nose into her side. “Just you,” he murmurs, slow and soft. “You can watch that stupid show you like.” 

Devi laughs. “You can’t watch  _ Rick and Morty _ and call  _ Riverdale _ stupid, Ben, you just can’t.” 

“I’m sick, David, I can do whatever I want.” 

She reaches down and runs her fingers through his hair. “You want to listen to me watching  _ Riverdale?”  _

He closes his eyes, pressing himself up against her leg. “I want to listen to you.” 

(she’ll give him anything he wants. he’s always done the same for her, and right here, right now, is perhaps the beginning steps to her attempt to pay him back, fractionally, for how much he’s done. compared to him, it’s nothing, but it’s what she can do right now) 

“What do you want me to talk about?” she murmurs, running her hands through his hair, slightly damp from his shower. 

Ben sighs. “Space.” 

She freezes, feeling as though she’s heard those words before. Devi presses her eyes closed, tries to remember where she’s heard that. 

Fuck, New Year’s. 

“You want me to tell you about space?” 

“Tell me about the stars, Devi.” He snuggles closer to her, sighing. “Please.” 

“Well,” she starts, “star death is probably the most interesting thing. Stars generate heat through nuclear fusion, which also generates pressure and lets the star hold itself up against the force of gravity. Eventually, though, the star runs out of hydrogen in its core.” 

“What happens then?” he murmurs.

She knows this is performative, for her. Ben knows what happens when a star dies, she knows he does. They’ve been in the same science class for eight years. 

But he’s asked  _ her _ to tell him about it. He wants to hear her. 

“Then,” she murmurs, even quieter as she notices his eyes start to flutter, “the core loses pressure, and starts to collapse. However, there’s still hydrogen in the shell, so the star will continue to burn that.” 

Ben murmurs, tucking himself impossibly closer. She drags her fingers across his forehead, worried at how warm he is. God, she’s worried. 

Devi swallows roughly and forces herself to keep talking. “As the star burns the hydrogen in its shell, it swells and gets bigger and brighter, forming a red giant, which eventually becomes hot enough to start fusing helium into carbon.”

“Devi,” he breathes. “I’m cold.” 

“Fuck, Ben,” she says. She sits up and grabs another blanket from the corner of the room, spreading it over him. He instantly wraps it tighter around him, burrowing back into her, wrapping his arm around her waist. “You gotta tell me what you need.” 

“I don’t wanna bother you,” he whispers. “Keep going. Please.” 

“Unfortunately, since the star is a lot hotter, the helium fuel burns a lot quicker. Once it runs out of helium in its core, the carbon core contracts and the star will burn both the hydrogen and helium in its shell and enter a second red giant phase.” 

“No cre’tiv’ty?” he mumbles. 

Devi feels the corners of her mouth quirk up into a smile. Typical Ben response. “Well, after, in smaller stars like our sun, the core will never get hot enough to fuse carbon into heavier elements, so the core dies and the outer envelope drifts away, exposing the dense core, which is known as a white dwarf.” 

She sighs, slumping back against the pillows and looking down at him. “And then, of course, the illumination of the gas surrounding a white dwarf is a planetary nebula. That’s all the really pretty stuff you can see.” 

“Larger stars are different though—” she stops abruptly when she glances down to see that Ben’s fallen fast asleep, breathing gently into her side. Devi sighs, thumb stroking the curve of his cheek. “Good,” she murmurs. “Sleep, you idiot.” 

Devi leans back against the pillows and glances down at him. Her fingers itch, suddenly, and the only thing she wants to do is draw him. 

So, slowly, carefully, and gently, she extracts herself from Ben’s side, quickly using the bathroom and then popping over to his desk to pull out a clipboard and a sheet of computer paper. It’s not her sketchbook, but it’s better than nothing. 

Settling back at his side, Ben instantly turns back into her, snuggling into his pillow. 

Devi stares with the curve of his mouth, lips slightly parted as he breathes. She leans down and traces her fingers over his lips, gently, gently, memorizes the shape of them, the dip in the center of his top lip. 

She then shifts her attention back to his paper, taking longer on his mouth, sketching the dip she felt underneath her fingers, sketching the lines of his lips. 

Moving on next to his jaw, Devi runs her thumb along the cut of his jaw, feeling the way his pulse throbs underneath her touch. She aches to lean down and follow that same line of his jaw with her lips, slowly, surely, taking her time with him in a way she never usually can. 

She does this for the rest of his face, lingering the longest on his eyes, wishing so badly that she might be able to see them, and then hating herself for wishing it so because he needs to get as much rest as possible. 

Devi bites her lip when she looks at the finished sketch of him, sleeping, of course, and she usually doesn’t feel like she’s gotten him right, but this? 

It’s perfect, and even looking at this sketch of him makes her heart ache. 

(she wants to lie down next to him and breathe him in, tuck her face into his neck and stay here with him. she wants to wake up next to him in his bed, like she did on the morning of new year’s, save the awful hangover, she wants to lean over and press her lips to his without it devolving into sex, she wants—) 

Ignoring that, ignoring those feelings, Devi grabs her purse and pulls her earbuds out of it, plugging them into Ben’s laptop and opening it, logging in as a guest. She slips the earbuds in her ears and hits play on the next  _ Brooklyn Nine-Nine _ episode, her hands drifting down to stroke aimlessly over his shoulder as she does. 

She sits like that for a while, letting the episodes play and occasionally glancing down at Ben, making sure he’s still asleep. Occasionally he murmurs in his sleep, frowning, wrinkles appearing, and she smooths her thumb out over them until his wrinkles melt out, skin smooth again. 

She can’t even  _ think _ about leaving him right now, can’t even think about going back to her own house, and so she fishes her phone out of her purse and texts her mom that she’ll be home later than usual. 

Devi watches the show until the early afternoon, when Ben begins to stir besides her. 

She pauses instantly, shutting the laptop and sliding it off her lap onto the bed. “D—Devi?” he breathes. 

“Hey,” she murmurs, shifting so she’s a bit further down the bed. “How are you feeling, Ben?” 

When she reaches up and cards her hands through his hair, he leans into her touch, eyes fluttering shut again. “Like crap,” he mutters. “But a little better, I guess.” 

Devi grins. “Guess I was right, huh, Gross? I expect to be paid for my services handsomely. Florence Nightingale-ing you was not exactly how I saw myself spending my Saturday.” 

“What do you want?” he says, pushing himself up. She lets her hands fall from his hair as she does so, blinking open his eyes to look at her. “Normally, I’d assume you want my hot body. I mean, I guess I could just lay here and let you do what you want to me. Sounds kind of hot,” he smirks. 

“First of all, Jake Peralta, calm down,” Devi laughs. “I’m definitely not sleeping with you right now. You’re disgustingly sick.” 

Ben pouts at her. “Damn,” he rasps. 

“Secondly, I haven’t quite decided what I want from you yet, but I’ll let you know when I do,” she smirks. “What you need to do is go take another shower. I’m assuming you have tea, right? Cause you’re a pretentious asshole.” 

“Again, a sophisticated asshole.” 

Devi lightly thwacks him in the stomach, and then panics when he starts to wheeze. 

“Oh, fuck! Holy shit, Ben!” She grabs him, leaning him back against the pillows as he continues to cough. “Oh my god,” she says, scrabbling for her phone. “Ok, ok, you’re gonna be fine, ok?” 

He keeps coughing, and Devi’s hands shake as she tries to turn her fucking phone on, panic rising within her. “Stay with me, ok? You’re gonna be fine.” 

Then, he stops coughing and starts laughing, hard. 

Devi stares at him, her phone dropping from her hand. “You asshole!” she shrieks, just barely resisting the urge to pummel him with a pillow. “You absolute fucking asshole!” 

“I’m sorry, David,” Ben laughs, “but the opportunity was right there.” 

Devi shoves him. “Don’t fucking do that,” she says, her voice and hands shaking. “You don’t ever do that again.” 

(her father falling to the ground in front of her eyes and flashing sirens and her mother crumpling on the floor of a hospital waiting room and salty tears on her lips and ambulance lights and screaming screaming screaming) 

She blinks back the tears unsuccessfully, and Ben notices instantly. The smile slips from his face and he leans forward. “Devi,” he says, worriedly. “Devi, I’m sorry, I won’t do it again, I promise.” 

He reaches out and pulls her closer, and she can’t help but melt into him, despite him being sick. She closes her eyes, trying to blink back tears. “Don’t do that, Ben. Please, please.” 

“Ok, ok,” he soothes, rubbing his hand up and down her back. “I’m sorry.” 

She’s not doing this. She’s not losing another person she lo—cares about. She’s not, she’s not, she’s not.

Devi wraps her arms around him and buries her nose in his chest, making sure she can feel the beat of his heart, making sure she can hear it reverberate in his ribcage. He’s ok. He’s ok. 

She doesn’t know how long Ben holds her (or does she hold him?) but eventually, she pulls back, wiping away the dried tear tracks with the back of her hand. “Ok.” Her voice doesn’t shake, and that’s a victory, for her. “Now, go take a shower. You smell terrible.” 

“Very kind of you to say, David,” he groans, pushing himself up off the bed. 

“Oh, I know,” she says, breathing in steadily to calm her racing heart. “I know. I’m gonna go make you some tea, ok?” 

He swallows. “Ok,” Ben sighs, reaching up and pulling his shirt off. He rubs his hand over his face before turning to look at her. “You know, you can leave whenever you want.” 

Devi steps closer to him, runs her hand up his chest and curls it around his shoulder. “I know.” 

Ben nods, looking her in the eyes. “Ok.” 

He gives her a soft, shaky smile then, pulling away and heading into the bathroom. Devi sighs, and then washes her hands, before heading downstairs. 

She doesn’t actually like, know how to brew tea, so she pulls out her phone and googles it, making Ben a mug while she makes herself some hot chocolate. 

It’s a bit chilly in the house, and she sighs in contentment when she sips the hot chocolate, feeling it warm her from the inside out. Devi pulls the tea bag out when she’s done with it, taking the mugs up to their room with a bottle of cold medicine. 

Ben’s still in the shower when she comes back, settling the mug on the bedside table. She neatly packs all of her things in her purse and sets it on the ground, sitting cross-legged on the bed as she waits for Ben to come out of the bathroom. 

“Ugh,” Ben says, exiting the bathroom. “I still feel like crap.” 

“I brought some cold medicine up for you,” she says, offhandedly, glancing up on his and nearly choking on her drink. “Why—why aren’t you dressed?” 

“I forgot to bring clothes into the bathroom,” he groans, rubbing his neck with his hand. “I always feel terrible when I wake up from a nap.” 

Devi swallows, watching the water droplets slide down his back as he turns and bends down to get the rest of his clothes. She wants to press her lips to his shoulder, wraps her arms around him and smell his skin. 

“Get dressed quick, Gross,” she commands. 

“Don’t want to ogle me, David?’ 

“You literally look like a ghost, Casper.” 

Ben flashes her a quick grin. “Wanna recreate the  _ Ghost _ scene?” 

Devi throws a pillow at him. “You’re literally sick, you troll. Stop hitting on me.” 

“Do you really want me to, David?” 

She glares at him, and he raises his hands in surrender, smirking. “Ok, ok, I’m going.” 

He comes out a moment later, fully dressed, and settles into bed next to her, sliding underneath the covers. Instead of lying down, however, he sits up, letting his head rest on her shoulder. “So, what are we watching?” 

“Take your cold medicine first,” she says, handing it to him. 

He grimaces as he swallows it, but does so without complaint. “You know, since I’m sick, I thought you might be able to let me choose the show, but I don’t think I’m that lucky.” 

Devi hands him his mug of tea and flips open his laptop, handing it to him so he can sign in.  _ “Riverdale.” _

Ben groans, glancing over at her. “Really?” He pouts exaggeratedly, and Devi rolls her eyes. 

“Man up, you big baby.” 

“You’re not a very nice nurse, you know that, right?” 

“Yeah, but I’m a good one.” 

“A good nurse would let me pick what I wanted to watch.” 

“We’re watching  _ Riverdale, _ Gross, and that’s that.” 

Ben grumbles but just sips his tea, settling against the pillows next to her. Devi quickly pulls up Netflix and starts the show from the beginning, since Ben hasn’t seen any of the seasons. 

“This is so dumb,” he says, ten minutes in. 

Devi pauses the show and glares at him. “Teenage soaps, Ben.” 

Ben rolls his eyes. “Ok, but where’s the ridiculousness that everyone’s always talking about? This is just a dramatic story with that guy from  _ The Suite Life of Zack and Cody.” _

_ “The Suite Life on Deck _ was better,” Devi argues. 

“Disagree,” Ben says, then starts coughing. _“The Suite Life of Zack and Cody_ wins for the PRNDL scene alone.” 

“That’s literally just one scene! From an entire show! As a whole, you know I’ve got the right choice!” 

“You’re just mad cause you know I’m right,” he says, smugly. Blue eyes dance at her over the rim of his mug as he sips his tea, and she can’t see his smirk, but she knows it’s there. 

“You’re such an ass,” she huffs. 

“I take pride in that statement. Now, at least put on something better.” 

Devi rolls her eyes. “Fine. I’ll put on the  _ Carrie  _ episode.”

She hits play on the episode, and revels as the crease in Ben’s forehead becomes increasingly more pronounced as they watch the episode. “Wait, where the hell did Cherry—” 

“Cheryl,” Devi corrects. 

“Whatever the fuck her name is get all that blood?” 

“Good fucking question.” 

“And how the hell is their high school ok with them putting on a production like this? We have to get like, a fucking notary to even  _ mention _ sex in any of our plays.” 

“This is also true.” 

“And who the hell is this red-headed kid, and why is he always in the exact wrong place at the wrong time?” 

“That’s Archie, and he’s like, supposed to be the main character.” 

“No offense, David, but this show is wack.” 

Devi giggles. Ben sighs and shifts gently, and she can feel his soft, soft hair brush her cheek as he does so. “You’re not wrong about that, Ben.” 

“I’m not wrong about a lot of things.” 

“You’re wrong about most things.” 

Ben smirks, shifting his face and pressing a kiss to her collarbone, so light Devi thinks it might have been a mistake. “You wish I was. Then you could lecture me and get all stupid hot while you do it.” 

“You think I’m hot when I lecture you?” She flushes, glancing over to see him grinning at her. 

“Devi, we’ve already established I think you’re hot when you’re smart.” 

“So, again, always hot.” 

“Mmm, I don’t know,” he hums, taking another sip of his tea. “Am I always hot?” 

“Not particularly right now.” 

“You wound me, David.” 

“Good.” 

Ben sighs then, closing his eyes. “I hate being sick,” he mumbles. 

Devi reaches over and runs her hand through his hair. “You’re such a lightweight,” she teases. “One measly little infection, and Ben Gross is on the floor.”

“Taking Devi Vishwakumar down with him.” His voice comes out muffled, and she strokes her thumb back and forth over the line of his neck.

“What?” 

“You know you’re probably going to get sick, right? Staying so close to me?” 

Devi cocks her head, thinking about it. “Yeah, well, I’ve got a pretty good immune system.” 

“You’re still probably going to get sick.” 

(she doesn’t care, though. she doesn’t really care what happens to her as long as ben knows he’s not alone right now, as long as he knows she’s here with him) 

“Yeah, ok then.” 

Ben smiles into her skin. “Humbling yourself for me? I’m honored.” 

“Ok, focus on the show!” she hisses, turning her attention back to the screen. 

He drags his eyes back to the screen and scowls. “This is dumb, David. Can’t we watch something actually good?” 

Devi glares at him. “This  _ is _ good.” 

“It’s not good, it’s bad.” 

She wants to fight him, but it’s not that untrue, frankly. “You’re so annoying, you know that?” 

“I know, David,” he laughs. 

“If you hate this so much, why don’t we watch something else?” 

Ben leans over and presses pause on the laptop, tossing it to the side. “I’m bored. I don’t wanna watch any TV.” 

“Well, we can’t exactly do much else. You need your rest.” 

“I know, I know, David. Cytokines, right?” 

She smiles, unexpectedly pleased that he’s been listening to her this whole time. “Cytokines.” 

He shifts, sitting up cross-legged on his bed. “Come on, David. Let’s do something fun.” 

“We can’t do anything fun, Ben. You have to rest, and I’m making you rest if I have to.”

Ben’s eyes glint dangerously. “Really?” he breathes, and then he moves forward. He’s slow, obviously still tired and sick, but he still manages to knock her back on the bed. 

“If you kiss me and get me sick, I’ll kill you,” she says, but then bursts out into laughter when Ben’s fingers skate up her side and dig into her waist. 

“Ben!” she shrieks. “Why are you—no, stop!” She laughs again, kicking her legs. 

“Sorry, David,” he says, fingers dancing over her body. God, she can’t stop laughing. “Even sick me knows how to make you laugh, huh?” 

“B—Ben!” Devi laughs. “Stop!” 

“You have a nice laugh, though,” he says, continuing to tickle her. “Still wanna hear it.” 

“Make—make me laugh more and maybe then you’ll hear it, Gross,” she gasps. 

He finally then gives her a reprieve, sitting back on his bed as she breathes, turning to look at him. “Oh my god, why are you like this?” 

He smiles at her. “I thought you could use a little laughter. You’ve been pathetically serious all day.” 

“Pathetically serious?” she exclaims, sitting up straight in bed. “Are you kidding me? After I took care of you all day, this is what you have to say for thanks?” 

“My favorite pastime  _ is _ insulting you, David. You can’t just expect me to give that up because my stupid immune system wants me to be lethargic so that I can rest and keep people from getting infected.” 

“You’re insane,” she laughs. 

Just at that moment, Ben’s stomach chooses to growl. “And hungry,” he says, cheekily. 

Devi rolls her eyes. “Come one, Gross. Let’s get you something to eat.” 

Ben drags himself out of bed, wrapping the blanket around his shoulders. “Can you even cook, David?” 

She crosses her arms and glares at him. “Excuse me, I’ll have you know that I’m very capable in the kitchen.” 

“Are you, though?” 

(she is definitely, definitely not. she’s actually terrible, in the kitchen, if her mother isn’t directing her, but she’s not going to let ben know that. this is another way for her to be superior over him. she’s not giving it up) 

“I am an  _ amazing _ cook,” she says, instead. 

(she’s not) 

Ben smirks at her. “Prove it.” 

Devi growls, stalking over to him and poking him in the chest. He coughs, and she feels a bit bad for hurting him, remembering he’s sick, but she’s still gonna prove him wrong. 

“I will, Gross.” She tosses her hair back and narrows her eyes. “And you’re gonna be sorry for it.” 

He raises an eyebrow. “I am?” 

She takes off, bounding down the steps. “You are!” she calls, over her shoulder. 

Devi enters the kitchen and stands at the stove, arms crossed over her chest, while she scans the room with critical eyes. Ben sits at the kitchen counter, already smirking. 

“So, David, tell me how amazing of a cook you are. What are you gonna make?” 

“French onion soup,” she says, smirking. 

He laughs, sitting back in his chair. “I can’t wait to see how  _ that _ goes.” 

Devi reaches over and smacks him with a spatula. “You should learn how to be more motivating, Gross.” 

“Ok then. When are you going to get started?” 

She pulls out a sharp knife from the knife rack. “Now, Gross. Are you sure you want to be aggravating me right now?” 

Instead of looking terrified, as she had hoped, Ben just smiles at her. “What’s the fun if I'm not? Oh, and in case you need one, I have a good recipe pulled up on my phone.” 

Devi growls at him. “I told you I was a  _ magnificent _ cook. I don’t need no goddamn recipe telling me how to cook French onion soup!” 

Ben raises his hands placatingly. “Ok then, David, get to it.” 

She glares at him, but turns away and starts chopping things up, the onions and garlic, finding thyme and bay leaves. 

“Ok,” she says, stepping back, seeing everything together. “I think that’s enough prep.” 

“Wow,” Ben says, his mouth curling up into a smile. “I will admit, that’s pretty impressive, David.” 

Devi offers him a genuine smile at that. “Thank you very much. I like to think so.” 

She then turns around and dumps everything into the pot, and then closes her eyes, swearing at herself. 

Cook your onions and garlic first. How the  _ fuck _ did she forget that? Devi groans, resisting the urge to cover her face with her palms and crumple into a ball on the floor. 

“Having some trouble, David?” She doesn’t even have to turn around to know there’s a smirk on his face.

Devi lifts her head up, attempting to project more confidence than she actually feels, and turns around, a bright smile spreading over her face. “Absolutely none.”

“I can tell something’s wrong, Devi.” 

“Nothing’s wrong. Plus, it’s not like you know how to cook either.” 

“Excuse me, I know how to cook!” 

“Oh yeah? Name one thing,” she commands, smirking. 

Ben sputters at her helplessly for a bit. “An—an omelette.” 

Devi laughs. “Omelettes? Come on, Ben. You can do better than that!” 

“You’re making me soup!” 

“Cause it’s good for your throat!” She growls in frustration, shoving down the urge to strangle him with her bare hands. “God, do you have so few brain cells you can’t comprehend that?” 

Just then, Ben’s eyes widen, looking at something behind her. “Uh, Devi?” he says, pointing. 

“What?” she snaps, whirling around and gasping when she sees the smoke billowing out of the pot. 

“Oh my god!” she shrieks. “What?” 

“Is it on fire?” Ben yells. He gets up, swaying, and nearly collapses. “Oh, ok I do  _ not _ feel so good.” 

Ok, ok, one problem at a time.

Devi grabs a dishrag and the smoking pot and lugs it to the sink, immediately turning the faucet on. The smoke intensifies, but she ignores that and rushes to Ben’s side, where he’s gripping the chair tightly. 

“Hey, hey, Ben,” she soothes, cupping his jaw. “Look at me. Are you ok?” 

He gasps, blinking quickly. “Yeah,” he pants. “Just a—a bit dizzy, sorry.” 

“Don’t apologize,” she says, firmly. “How long have you felt dizzy?” 

He gives her a sheepish smile. “Since we came downstairs,” he mumbles. 

She lightly smacks him on the side of his head. “You idiot. I keep telling you you have to tell me when you feel bad! Otherwise, what am I here for?” 

He smiles at her shyly. “I like your company.” 

“Oh.” She blushes. “Really?” 

He nods. “Yeah, really.” His gaze then shifts to the sink behind her, smile turning mischievous. “You know, when you’re not trying to burn down my house.” 

“Oh, god,” Devi groans, burying her face in her hands. “I’m so sorry about that. I don’t even know how that happened.” 

Ben laughs. “It’s fine, David. At least it was an adventure. Come on, let’s just make some sandwiches.” 

They cobble together an adequate lunch of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and Devi keeps a close eye on Ben the whole time. For someone who was such a good caretaker, he is absolutely  _ shit _ at taking care of himself. 

He yawns when they finish lunch, rubbing at his eyes. “Ok, Gross,” Devi says. “We gotta get you some more rest.” 

He shakes his head. “No,” he whispers. “If I fall asleep, then you’ll leave. I don’t wanna wake up alone again.” 

Devi’s heart breaks for him all over again. She slides off her chair and runs her hand across his shoulders. “I won’t,” she promises. “I’ll be here. And even when I leave, you call me the second you wake up.” 

Ben looks at her, blue eyes both intense and bleary all at the same time. “Ok.” 

She leads him up to his room again, letting him sit back down in his bed, and he clutches her hand, pulling her closer. 

“You’re clingy when you’re sick,” she laughs, sitting next to him and letting his head rest on her shoulder. 

“Tell me what else I am,” he mumbles, and when she turns to look at him, she sees his eyes are fluttering once more, and he’s about to fall asleep. 

“You’re really not very smart,” she laughs, and she feels more than hears him laugh, the puff of air he lets out against her collarbone. “Surprisingly nice, but you don’t let many people see that. Kind of arrogant, but it’s ok, cause I am too. With a big heart.” 

“Damn, David,” he mumbles. “You’re making me blush.” 

Devi runs her hand down his back, over and over again. 

“Devi?” 

“Yeah, Ben?” 

“Why did you decide to stay?” 

Her heart stops in her chest, and she wants to pass out right then. She doesn’t know  _ how _ to answer that. Why did she decide to stay? Why? 

“You’re my friend,” she says, simply. It’s the most honest answer she can give right now. 

Ben slides his arm around her waist and tugs her closer, burrowing more firmly into her side. “I am?”

Her heart breaks that he even questions it, hurts that he feels the need to beg for scraps of her affection. 

She turns her head and presses a kiss to his forehead, and he sighs, clearly exhausted and half delirious. “You are my friend,” she repeats, quietly. 

“That’s nice,” he murmurs. 

Devi runs her hand through his hair over and over again, until he falls asleep, breathing softly against her shoulder. 

Gently, as gently as she can, she pushes him off of her and settles him back on top of his bed. Devi runs her down his cheek. She should go. 

But there’s something about a Ben that needs her that’s so, so tempting. Devi’s never been the caretaker, not when it comes to them. She’s always been the mess, the one who needs the help and the fixing, and Ben is the one who is self-sufficient, put together. 

But she likes taking care of him. Likes feeling needed, likes feeling wanted. 

She thinks about New Year’s. She doesn’t remember much about that night and frankly, she’s not sure she wants to. It left a bitter taste in her mouth, but there is also the chance that that was just the vodka. 

She trails her fingers down his face again, thinking about the drawing she did of him. Thinking about everything that’s happened between them these past few months. 

There’s a lot of things that have changed, and she enjoys it. She likes that things have changed, that she can press herself into him without it being too weird. 

(but there’s always the feeling in her chest, sharp and painful, like a hot knife sliding in between her ribs, right into her lungs and puncturing them so she cannot breathe. there is something missing, and devi does not know what it is, does not know what is happening to her) 

She doesn’t want to leave him, had promised to stay. And she’s not about to break her promise to him, not again. 

Devi sighs, leaning back against the pillows, and looks up at the ceiling. 

Where are these goddamn rules? 

She finds her phone and opens up the Docs app on her phone, staring at the contract they made, four months ago. 

Rules. Communication, expectations, boundaries. They’ve wrecked them and subsequently wrecked her. 

He’s wrecked her. 

Part of Devi wants to think this isn’t possible, that Ben, unwittingly, could wreck her so fully, but in her heart she knows he’s always been able to. 

(typhoons, hurricanes, cyclones, different names for the same destruction swirling in his eyes. there is a reason storms are named after people)

Ben stirs when she leans down and brushes her fingers across his forehead, gently smoothing his hair back from his face. “Ben,” she whispers. “I’m so sorry. I have to go.” 

He nods, frowning. “I know,” he breathes. “Do you need a ride home?” 

“You’re not driving me anywhere, Gross,” she murmurs. “Go back to sleep. I’ll call you, ok?” 

He frowns, sighing heavily, limbs loosening up. “Stay safe,” he murmurs, eyes fluttering shut again. 

She stays there for a few moments, running her hand through his hair over and over again until she’s sure he’s fallen asleep, until she’s sure he won’t notice. And then she leans forward and presses her lips to his forehead, for the briefest of seconds, before pulling away once more. 

“Feel better,” she says, quietly, and then she’s picking up her stuff and leaving. 

Devi shuts the door quietly behind her and makes sure she has everything; phone, sketch of Ben, and her purse, before she exits his house, walking back home. 

She drags her fingers over the sketch over and over again, as she walks home, slightly smearing the lead, but not caring much. 

She wishes she was able to stay, that she had an excuse to stay with him for the rest of the night, that she didn’t have to go back home. 

(why did she have to go back home? what is she running from? why is she running from what she wants? what excuse is she looking for?) 

Nalini looks up when Devi enters the house, smiling softly. “Hi, kanna. How is Benjamin?” 

“He’s fine,” Devi remarks, closing the door behind him. “Just a little ill.” 

Nalini’s mouth dips into a frown. “That boy’s parents should be shot.” 

“Mom!” Devi says, shocked. 

Her mother holds her hands up, placatingly. “Ok, ok, maybe not shot. But I’d like to have a few words with them.” 

Devi tilts her head, narrowing her eyes. “Why do you like Ben so much, Mom?” 

Nalini startles a bit. “What?” 

“You hated Paxton,” she comments, sitting opposite her mother. “You let me date him because—well, I don’t really know why—but you hated him.” 

“I didn’t hate him,” Nalini defends. Devi just raises an eyebrow, and her mother sighs. “I didn’t approve of him, Devi. But I didn’t hate him. I let you date him because it was what your father would have done.” 

It’s a startling admission. “What?” 

“After your father died, Devi, I realized you needed him. You had me, but you needed him. So I tried to be a little more like him. And he would have let you date that boy.” 

“You know his name, Mom,” Devi says, smiling a bit. “But why do you like Ben?” 

Nalini raises an eyebrow. “You’re not dating him, are you?” 

Devi flushes bright red. “N—no. I’m not.” 

“Well, then there’s that,” Nalini says, smiling slightly. “I don’t think any boy in the world is good enough for you, but I’m also mandated to think that, as I’m your mother.” 

Devi reaches out and intertwines her fingers with her mom’s. “And?” she pushes. 

“And he’s a good kid, Devi. Always has been. Deserves better than his parents give him. I wish you would invite him for dinner over more. I can’t imagine how lonely he must be if eating dinner together as a family is a novel concept to him.” 

(hearing the words from her mother’s mouth is like being smacked in the face with a cinder block. she wants to pretend that’s not true—but it is)

“There’s also the fact that I think he is the only boy in the world who won’t distract you from your studies, and I like that.” 

She swallows. “S—so if I did date him?” 

Nalini shrugs. “I would be somewhat ok with it. You’ve already gotten into Princeton, kanna. I think you’re entitled to a bit of fun now.” She grips Devi’s hand tighter. “Now, enough talk about boys. Want to help me make dinner?” 

Devi smiles and nods. “Yeah, Mom. That would be nice.” 

It’s just them for dinner tonight, and it’s moments like these, where she is laughing with her mother, bright and easy, that Devi thinks, are some of her happiest. There will always be the ache of her father’s absence at the dinner table, nothing in the world can fix that, but her mother shines bright as well, perhaps in a different way. 

If her father was the sun, strong and bright, then her mother is the moon, a gentle sort of light, a woman’s touch in the darkness. 

After dinner, Devi goes upstairs and sits on her bed, pulling the sketch out and tucking it into her sketchbook. There are at least 20 of them, all of Ben, or of them, their hands, of his laugh. She has sketched his eyes more times than she can count. 

(you can never really, really capture the depth of the ocean, no matter how hard you try. photographs and paintings and sketches are no substitute for standing at the edge of a pier and feeling the spray of the sea against your face, hearing the waves crash, smelling the salt in the air. it is a half substitute for him, something she is finding she needs more and more of, because being around him is just—it’s too much, and yet, as soon as she runs away she wants to come running back) 

She rubs at her eyes, suddenly exhausted from taking care of Ben, the whole day, and changes into her pajamas. 

As she pulls on her sweatpants, though, she glances over at her closet, biting her lip. Reaching over, she pulls his hoodie out and slips it on, burying her nose in the faint, faint scent of him. 

She hasn’t given it back, and he hasn’t asked her to. 

Devi climbs into bed and looks back at the sketches, looks through the pages of her notebook she’s filled with stories about him. 

(does she want to write about—about that day? does she want to face that truth?) 

No. 

It’s cowardly, but she picks today, instead, resolves to write about the way he had trusted her, viscerally, instinctively, and how good it felt. Because she trusts him, with her life, she knows that, but to know he feels the same way, it makes her edges soften, a bit. He deserves it.

Settled on her bed, surrounded by drawings of him, Devi begins to write. 

* * *

Ben hears the music when he steps out into the hallway, empty, as usual. 

It’s after the Model UN meeting, and he’d been meeting with Shapiro on what he had missed when he was out sick last week, so he thought he was the last one in the school. 

He recognizes it instantly. Harp. His lips turn up into a smile, however unwittingly, as he imagines Devi sitting there, her lips upturned in that soft smile she always has when she plays, and soon he finds himself walking, following the music almost unwittingly. 

Ben pushes open the door of the orchestra room to find Devi sitting at the harp, her graceful fingers dancing over the strings. She hasn’t noticed him quite yet, and so he leans against the door and watches her. 

They’re things of beauty, her hands, nimble and delicate, drawing music out of seemingly nothing into the air. It settles into Ben’s soul, warms him from the inside out. 

Devi is not very graceful, he knows that. She’s amazing, but she’s not very graceful, is more of a brash, headstrong fire than a flickering candle light, but right now, graceful is the only word he has for her. 

She tilts her head and her eyes slip shut, and she loses herself in the music. It’s one of the most beautiful things he’s ever seen in his entire life. 

The smile crosses her face, and he aches to reach out and touch her, to feel that smile pressed into his palm, but more than that, he doesn’t want her to stop playing. 

He listens, and watches, drinks her in. 

(she has never been so magnetic, he thinks, than when she is totally in bliss. she does not play for anyone but herself, she does not play for anyone to hear her, and that is when he thinks she plays the most beautifully)

Devi finishes, and smiles, opening her eyes. She still has not seen him. 

Ben steps forward. “That was beautiful,” he murmurs. 

She jumps slightly, eyes flicking up to meet his. “When did you get here?” 

“A few minutes ago.” He steps forward and sits across from her. “That was beautiful,” he repeats. 

She gives him a shaky smile. “Thanks. I missed my father.” 

Ben furrows his eyebrows. “You missed your dad?” 

Devi nods, fingers strumming over the strings, with no particular pattern or rhythm to them. “He was the one who gave me my first harp, you know that?” 

Ben smiles. “I didn’t, but that does sound like something he would do.” 

“He probably regretted it for like, six years after he first did,” Devi laughs. “I was pretty bad.” 

“Seriously?” he asks, shocked. 

“Oh, absolutely terrible,” she snorts. She fixes him with a glare. “I’m only admitting this to you cause I’m fucking amazing now, Gross, so don’t go getting any ideas.” 

Ben smirks. “I know, I know. Keep going.” 

Devi sighs, leaning back in her chair. “But he loved it, you know? Loved when I would practice and play. He would sit with me as I ran through my lessons, over and over again. Sit with the whole time and encourage me. After he died, I couldn’t even look at my harp, for months. It was just too hard.” 

He reaches out and covers her hand with his. “I’m sorry.” 

She shakes her head. “No, it’s fine. I started playing again and it actually helped. I felt closer to him than ever when I was playing it. So now I play it for him. Every time.” 

“That’s beautiful, Devi.” 

She smiles. “A little less beautiful when I mess up the chords, but thank you.” 

Ben stands up, holding his hand out. “Want a ride home?” 

She shakes her head. “Nice try, Gross. I wanna hear you.” 

Ben furrows his brow. “What?” 

“I know you play piano, right?” He nods. “Play something for me.” 

“You wanna hear me play?” Devi nods, smirking. 

“You’re always bragging about your many talents. Show me.” 

Ben laughs, rubbing at his neck with his hand. “You realize students aren’t allowed to touch the piano, right, David?” 

She snorts, glancing around the room. “Do you see anyone else here, Gross? Stop using excuses to get out of showing me. I promise I won’t laugh if you’re too terrible.” 

He scowls at her. “I’m not trying to get out of it.” 

“Hmm,” she hums standing up and pressing her finger into his chest, at his sternum. “I think you are. Unless you can prove it, of course.” 

That does it for him. Devi knows exactly how to push his buttons, of course she does, and he’s well aware that’s exactly what she’s doing right now, but he can’t help himself, and lets himself be baited. 

(the worst part of this, he thinks, is that he cannot even languish in denial anymore about what devi does to him. he is fully aware of her power, of her beauty, the way she can make him do whatever she wants, the way he craves to give her whatever she needs) 

“Fine, David,” he smirks, sitting down at the bench. “Be prepared to be blown away.”

He hasn’t been to lessons in a while, but he does like to play. When he plays, there’s a bit of limbo, a halfway point he reaches. There’s no expectations on him when he plays, nothing he has to fulfill. He gave orchestra to Devi when they divided extracurriculars up, because he realized he would never be as happy playing for anyone else as he would be without the pressure to be perfect all the time. It’s a good outlet for him, something he does for the pure enjoyment of it, not for a college application or for praise. 

It is perhaps the only thing he does in life for himself. 

Ben flips through the piano books under the bench, picking a piece he knows is challenging enough to be fun, but also easy enough that he knows by heart. 

_ Chopin. Fantaisie-Impromptu. Op. 66 _

Ben settles his fingers over the keys, and starts to play. 

The way this song sounds is exactly like watching birds fly through the trees, the way you feel when you wake up in the morning and realize you have left your windows open, and sunlight is streaming in. There is an undeniably light quality to it, almost like ballerina slippers against linoleum. 

He closes his eyes, trying to remember the notes without looking at the sheet music. It’s a favorite of his, but it’s a bit too soft for them, perhaps. It is childhood, with a gauzy, fairytale like air to it. 

Ben opens his eyes, and Devi is standing there, watching him play. She’s staring at him intently, arms clutching her purse, and he offers her a small smile before his eyes flicker down to the keys again. 

The piece speeds up then, growing in intensity, and it hurts his hands a bit, to be honest, playing such a challenging piece after a while of beginning and intermediate ones, but he loves it. Loves listening to the way each of the keys echoes, loves listening to how the notes meld into one another, loves the symphony he can create. 

He finished then, resting his hands on the keys. 

She slides in next to him. “That was beautiful,’ she murmurs. “I didn’t know you could play like that.” 

Ben shrugs. “I don’t play for anyone but myself. That’s why I didn’t fight you on orchestra. I preferred just doing it by myself.” 

Devi looks at his hands. “That sounded like it was a hard piece,” she murmurs. 

He shrugs. “It was advanced. I’ve played it before.” 

She rests her own hands over the keys. “I’ve always wanted to play the piano.” 

“It’s not that hard, really. Look, I’ll show you.” 

Ben takes her hand in his and rests it in the middle of the keyboard. “You just have to find, and remember middle C. The black keys are a half step from the white keys, the sharp and flat versions of them.” 

He takes her hand and guides it across the keyboard, pressing black and white keys as he goes along. “I’m sure you know what sharps and flats are,” he says, wryly. 

Devi bats her eyes exaggeratedly. “Oh, no, Ben, I don’t. Teach me about them, please,” she says, high and breathy. 

He bursts out laughing. “You know, I know you didn’t mean it in this way, but that voice is kinda hot.” 

She grins. “I know. So, what else?”

“You can play like, hundreds of scales for anything, obviously, but most people stick to a few basic and heavily favored ones. Scales are pretty much the most basic step. If you stick to a few scales on the piano, and play them over and over again, they help strengthen your fingers a lot.” 

She settles her hands on the keys, and he can’t help but notice she has  _ beautiful _ hands, perfect for a piano player, long and graceful fingers. 

“So,” he murmurs, placing his hands over hers, “your hands are obviously important in piano, but there are foot pedals as well. It’s important that you learn how to merge the two.” 

Her hands flex underneath his. “Can you show me the keys?” 

“Of course.” 

He goes through each of the keys, patiently pointing them out. Devi listens with rapt attention, and he knows she’s fascinated. It’s a bit easier since she already knows how to read sheet music, and scales, so he can speed it up. 

“Wanna play Chopsticks?” he asks. 

She shakes her head. “I wanna play what you were playing.” 

Ben’s mouth drops open. “David, that—that’s a pretty hard piece. It took me like, a long time to learn it.” 

She smirks, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “I think I can do it, Gross.” 

Ben raises an eyebrow. “Seriously?” 

Her eyes lock with his. “Show me.” 

Ben shrugs. “Ok then.” He points to the sheet music, saying, “So, we start out with—” 

“No, no,” Devi says, laying her hand over his.  _ “Show _ me. On the piano. Play it, please.” 

“Oh,” he says, dumbly. “You—you want me to play it for you again? Slowly?” She nods. 

“Su—sure,” he says. He plays the first few measures, slowly, over and over again. Her eyes remain fixed on his hands, watching them carefully, watching which keys he plays and how he navigates to them. 

When he finishes going over the first few measures, he expects Devi to settle her hands over the keys and follow what he’s just done, with corrections from him, but instead, she reaches out and takes his hand in hers. 

“You have beautiful hands,” she murmurs. 

Ben flushes a bright red. “So—sorry, what?” 

“Nice hands,” she says, again. “Good for piano playing.” She presses the palm of her hand against his. “Strong hands,” she whispers, as if almost to herself. 

Ben swallows roughly, shoving down the urge to kiss her, to touch her and have her touch him. 

(he’s always loved her hands, but this is something else. he wants her hands all over him and his hands all over her, wants their hands intertwined easily, casually, not just touching her when they have sex. he wants to be able to touch her shoulders and to lace their fingers together, to hold her hand in his when they watch a movie) 

Devi brushes her thumb over the back of his hand, over and over again, and he’s hypnotized by the motion. “I like them.” 

She moves his hand so it is resting over hers on the piano, and starts to play. It’s an odd feeling, his hand resting over hers as she plays, but they’re barely touching, if that. He hovers over them, correcting her missteps, but it’s still beautiful. 

“You have nice hands too,” he whispers, when she finishes. He interlaces their fingers together, resting them on the piano keys. 

Devi blushes pink. “Thanks.” 

He reaches up and cups the back of her neck with his other hand, and then pulls her in for a kiss. 

She goes easily, sliding her free hand around to mirror his position, fingers digging into his hair. 

Her hair is so, so soft, and her hands are slightly dry in his, and he has never wanted to touch anything more than her. 

He kisses her deep, hand sliding down from the back of her neck to press against her shoulder blades and draw her closer. Their thighs end up pressed together, and he can feel the heat from her leg bleed through to his own. He wants—he  _ needs _ to touch her more. 

Ben pulls his hand away from hers and splays it over the small of her back, tugging her closer. She moans into his mouth in surprise when he drags his fingers up and down her spine, arching her body into his. 

He loves it, kissing her, touching her. It ground him, but it’s not so much the slides of lips against one another as it is her, almost nebulaic, when he thinks about it, surrounding him like the gas after a star dies, a violent, chaotic explosion of being. She overwhelms even the universe, and so he is helpless, doomed to be consumed by her. 

“Ok, ok,” she gasps, tearing her mouth away from his. “Not here.” 

He blinks at her for a moment, dazed, and then realizes they’re still in the school orchestra room. “Right, right.” 

He grabs her hand and tugs her off the bench, grabbing his things. “My place?” he asks, looking over his shoulder. 

Devi squeezes his hand before letting it go to grab her stuff. “Your room again?” 

She tosses her backpack over her shoulder and smirks. “You don’t got anywhere else?” 

“Where else could you possibly want, David? My house is huge.” 

“I don’t know,” she says. “I was expecting a little creativity from you, Gross. Maybe think of something else.” 

“The couch?” he suggests. 

“Just so long as you promise I won’t fall off of it onto the floor.” 

“I’ll catch you,” he smirks. 

She grins, sharp and smooth, like the edge of a knife, cutting through water. “What else can you do with those hands?” 

Ben barks out a laugh and tugs her flush against him. “Let me show you.” 

* * *

“Hey, David,” Ben quips, smiling at her. He drops into his seat beside her in science, dropping his books on the table. 

Devi looks over and gives her a small smile. “Hi, Ben.” 

He furrows his brows. “Are you ok?” 

She doesn’t look him in the eyes. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.” 

Ben lays a hand on her arm, gently, and she flinches. It slams him in the chest like he thinks the backwards weight of gravity slams into astronauts when a rocket takes off, full body, wholly, entirely. 

“I’m fine, Ben,” she murmurs. “I just—don’t want to talk, right now, ok?” 

She looks up and offers him a watery smile. He resists the urge to smooth down her hair and pull her into him, in the middle of class. “Just—is it something I did?” 

She shakes her head. “No. But I don’t—want to talk about it right now.” 

He frowns, but he also knows his limits, when it comes to Devi, and he knows not to push her right now. 

“Whatever you say, Devi,” he says, and leaves her be. 

She’s like this for the rest of the class, flinching whenever he touches her, and it’s not—not in the good way. It’s not like she’s retraining herself from touching him, but rather like she can’t bear to be touched by him. 

He stops touching her entirely halfway through the day, instead clearing his throat to get her attention. It doesn’t seem to do much to make her feel better, though, and he can’t stop thinking about it. Can’t stop thinking about how she feels, why she doesn’t want him to touch her. 

At the end of the day, he walks up to her at her locker, hand curling around the strap of his backpack. “Hey,” he says. “Can I drive you home?” 

She brushes a strand of hair back, tucking it behind her ear. “Uh, yeah, I guess,” she says. “But um.” She clears her throat. “I’m—um—” 

Ben steps forward. “Devi, we don’t have to do anything,” he says, quietly. “I’m worried about you.” 

(a few weeks ago, those words would have sent her running, he thinks, skittish as a colt, but now she just grips her textbooks tighter and gives him a small smile. she does not run from him as much, anymore, but it’s still difficult for her to stay) 

“Thanks, Ben.” 

Walking out of the school, he spares her a glance. She’s lost in her thoughts, looking to the side, and he frowns, looking at the nervous way her fingers pick at her nails. What could be wrong?

He opens the car door for her, and she laughs, for the first time, flashing him a bright smile. “You’re really pulling out all the stops, aren’t you?” 

He curls his hand around the car door. “You seem a little tired today.” 

“How is it you’re still a dick when you’re being nice?” 

“It’s a talent, David.” 

He hops into the car and pulls out of the parking lot, glancing over at her. “How did you do on the AP Euro essay?” 

Devi wrinkles her nose. “97,” she says, glumly. “Shapiro said that my analysis of the Crusades was one tone and lacking in some parts.” 

Ben rolls his eyes, flicking on his blinker. “This coming from the guy who showed us Monty Python as a supplement for our medieval Europe unit?” 

“Ok, part of me agrees with you, but also Monty Python is a fantastic movie, and you know it.” 

He snorts. “Fair enough.” 

“How did you do?” 

“Same as you, except I got points off for not focusing enough on the effects of the Crusades and spending too much time on the actual Crusades.” 

“That class is a fucking mess, you know?” 

She laughs. “Well, I don’t really care much anymore, considering I got into college.” 

Ben pulls up in front of her house and parks. “Makes sense.” 

He hops out of the car and follows her into the house, up to her room, and sits down on the floor, pulling out his work. She sits opposite him, crossing her legs. 

Biting his lip, he wonders if he should bring it up now, but decides not to, giving her a bit. 

After about an hour, though, he can’t take it anymore. He pushes his laptop to the side and shuffles over to her. Her hand is entangled in her hair, propping her head up, and her fingers are tapping at the pages of the textbook in her lap, but he can tell by the utterly blank look on her face she’s not actually reading anything. 

“Devi,” he says, reaching a hand out and brushing back a strand of hair. She sucks in a breath when he touches her. “What’s wrong?” 

Clearing her throat, she shakes her head stubbornly. “N—nothing’s wrong, Ben.” 

“You know that doesn’t work on me, David,” he murmurs. He runs his thumb over her cheek. “Devi, what’s wrong?” 

“Do—do you ever just have one of those days where you wake up and hate everything about yourself?” she chokes out. 

Ben lifts the textbook off of her lap and tips her head up, so she looks him in the eyes. “What are you talking about, Devi?” 

She turns away from him, wrapping her arms around herself. “Why are you doing this, Ben?” 

His eyebrows furrow. That’s not exactly what he’d expected her to say. “What?” 

“Why are you doing this? Sleeping with me?” 

He gapes at her. The truth is, he doesn’t even know why he’s doing this. It had started out as a way for him to get some stress relief without the hassle of a relationship, but now it was so much more than that. It was about her, being around her as much as he could get. Because he liked it, and he liked her, more than anything else. 

“Devi,” he starts, but she ducks her head. 

“Why did you pick me, out of everyone else?” 

“What?” he nearly yells, he’s so shocked. 

Devi swallows, looking up at him through lashes. “Why did you choose someone as ugly as me?” 

He can’t help it anymore, cupping her face with his hands. “What are you talking about, Devi?” 

She chokes out a laugh, trying to turn her face away from him. “I’m ugly, Ben. My hair is frizzy and my skin is never smooth and I hate my nose.”

“Devi, how can you think that?” He digs his fingers into her hair gently, tilting her head up so she has to look at him. “Devi, you’re beautiful.” 

She rolls her eyes. “Don’t pity me, Ben. I know I’m not beautiful.” 

Ben sets his jaw. “Fine. If you don’t believe what I’m telling you, I’ll show you.” 

He tugs her up, hand wrapping around her wrist and pulling her up from the floor. Her eyes flicker rapidly between the carpet and him. “Ben,” she asks, voice wobbling, “what are you doing?” 

He sits down gently on the bed, pulling her down with him. Reaching up, he tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m going to show you exactly how I see you.” 

He pushes her back against the covers of the bed, leaning over her, hovering just above her body. “I’m taking my time, ok? I’ll stop whenever you want.” 

She nods, breath caught in her throat. 

He starts with her face, leaning down and dropping a kiss on each eyelid. “I love your eyes,” he whispers. “They’re beautiful, the color of coffee. They always make me feel so good. You’ve always got a little laughter in them, and I love the look you get when you’re about to beat me and you know it.” 

He moves down to her nose next, dragging a finger across its slope before kissing it. “I love your nose. I love the way you scrunch it up when you’re confused or weirded out. You’re cute when you do that.” 

“Ben,” she whispers, hands digging into his back. 

He kisses her next, relishing in the soft gasp she lets out into his mouth, the way she moans and loses herself in the kiss, lips sliding under his. He kisses her for what feels like hours, barely separating to breathe, until he finally manages to pull away. “I love this,” he murmurs, thumb stroking her bottom lip. “I love the way you kiss me and the way you frown at me and your smile. Even the way you yell at me.” 

Her eyes are wide as she looks up at him, a small smile finally curling over her lips. “I knew that was your kink, Gross.” 

He laughs, moving further down. Ben presses a line of kisses along the curve of her neck, from the underside of her jaw to the curve of her shoulder. “I love how your skin glows in the sun and how you squeak when I kiss your shoulder. I love how you hold me closer when I kiss you here,” he says, thumb flickering over her pulse point, “and I love how you sigh whenever I touch you here.” 

He scrapes his teeth over her neck, sucking marks into it, red and raw, making sure she remembers this moment, that he was here with her. 

He then reaches down and curls his hands around the hem of her shirt, gently tugging it up. Devi looks at him with wide eyes, blown with desire and uncertainty. “Ben.” 

He stops instantly. “Do you want me to stop?” 

She shakes her head. “No but—“ she breaks off, wetting her lips. “Do you want to do this?”

Ben smirks, leaning down and kissing her. She sighs into his mouth, reaching a hand up to kiss him back. “Of course I do,” he mumbles, against her lips. 

Her shirt comes off over her head and is tossed off the bed, and Ben’s hands smooth over her stomach. 

He leans down and presses a kiss to the top of her breasts. “I love how you look in red,” he whispers, referring to the red bra she has on. “I love how beautiful you are when you’re confident.” He reaches around to her back and unclasps her bra, fingers dragging gently down her arms to tug it off. “I love how your breathing always picks up when I do this, like you’re waiting for me.” He slides a hand up her body and smooths his thumb over the peak of her breast, and Devi moans, head tipping back in pleasure. “I love how you respond to me.” 

He moves to the side then, dropping kissing down the length of her arms before pressing them into the palm of her hand. “I don’t think I’ve mentioned how much I love your hands,” he murmurs, into her palm. “I love how they look when they play harp and when they touch me. I love how they look when you’re holding a pencil or reading a book. I love that you know how to touch me exactly right.” 

“So—so do you,” she gasps, arching into his touch, and he continues to smoothing his hand up and down her body. 

Ben grins against her hand. “I love how you touch me, still.” He moves his hand and links it through hers, kissing every single one of her fingers. 

He turns his head and scatters kisses along the length of her stomach, skin erupting in goosebumps as he does so. “I love how soft and smooth your skin is. I love the way you dig your nails into my arm when I kiss your hip.” He does just that, and she does dig her nails into his arm, and he can’t help but smile. “I love the way you get goosebumps when I kiss you here, no matter how many times I’ve done it before.” 

He moves further down, pressing kisses the length of her legs, tugging her jeans off as he does. “Your legs are really fucking hot too,” he murmurs, and she laughs. “I love when you wrap them around my waist and the way they look in literally everything. It’s not really fair to me.” 

“Ben,” she says, voice teasing and a bit lighter. “You’re such a guy.” 

“Can’t help it,” he murmurs, ducking his head down and pressing a kiss to the back of her knee. “Sue me, but that’s what I think.” 

“I can’t believe you.” Devi digs her nails into the bedspread when he kisses the inside of her ankle. 

“I hope you do.”

He drags his hands back up the length of her legs, tugging off the last of her clothes. “Do you absolutely want this, Devi?” 

She nods furiously, reaching her hands up and cupping his face. “Make me feel good, Ben.” 

He grins. “That, I can do.” 

(this is the one thing he knows he can do, the one thing he can do reliably, make her feel good. it sometimes tears him apart, that he’s not sure how to comfort her in any other way but right here, right now, he is so grateful he can. because she asked him to, and he’s going to give her what she wants, going to make sure she knows how he sees her) 

Shifting a bit, he slips two fingers into her, relishing in how her eyes flutter, how she tips her head back. “Fuck,” he mutters. “When you tip your head like that, you look so beautiful.” 

He picks up the pace, and she lets out a strangled moan, trying to focus on him, eyes opening halfway. “Ke—keep talking, please.” 

“You’re so good at telling me what you want, and I like it,” he murmurs, dipping down to press kisses along the length of her neck. “I don’t want you to stop.” 

“Ben, go faster, please,” she gasps. “Go faster.” 

“Ok, ok, Devi.” He speeds up, pressing his thumb against her clit. She shudders, full body, slinging her leg over his waist. “You—you’re better than anyone else,” he murmurs. “Better than anyone else I’ve ever been with. The way you talk to me, the way you gasp, I love it.” 

Ben leans down and drags his teeth over her shoulder, speeding up. “Come on, Devi,” he murmurs. “Come on.” 

“Oh, god, Ben,” she whines, coming around his hands with a moan, her nails fisting into the bedsheets. “Ben, Ben, you’re amazing. You’re so good.” 

(the ego boost that comes at these words is wholly expected, and yet it still sends pride pooling in the pit of his stomach. he has her writhing underneath him, wanting him, and he’s going to make her feel so good she can’t take it) 

She gasps when he pulls his hand out of her, and leans over, grabbing a condom. Pushing her into her, he grips her hips,  _ tight, _ and she whines, eyes flickering open to meet his. “I love the way your hair feels underneath my hands,” he whispers. 

Devi lets her head dip forward and brushes her forehead against his collarbone. “What else?” 

“The way you feel,” he murmurs. “You feel amazing, and I love it. I love the way you bite down on my shoulder when you come, the way your mouth parts, the way you scratch your nails down my back. I love the way you say my name.” 

“You—you said that before.” 

“I like it a lot,” he mutters. “I like the way you react when I touch you here,” he says, rolling his hips into her hard as he tugs down on her earlobe, causing her to arch up into him. “I love everything about the way you are when I make you feel good. You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.” 

“Mo—more, Ben,” she pleads. “Give me m—more.” 

Ben drags his hands down her hip and wraps her other leg around his waist, driving into her harder, firmer. “Beautiful,” he murmurs. 

(beautiful beautiful beautiful, that is what she is right now, that is what she always is. she is so beautiful it makes his heart hurt, in his chest, takes his breath away. every word in the english language could not be enough to describe how she is right now, and he knows it, but damn him if he isn’t going to try) 

She sobs against his neck, raking her nails up his back when he thrusts into her harder, and he can feel her orgasm build, can feel she is on the edge. “You—” she chokes out. 

He strokes his hand down her face, causing her to open his eyes. “Tell me,” he whispers. “What am I?” 

Pushing into her with a bit more force, she keens, gasping her answer into the air. “You’re better than—than anyone else, too. Make me feel better than I’ve ever felt with—with anyone else.” 

“I can feel how bad you want me.” Ben leans down and rakes his teeth over her pulse point, and she moans, sharp and loud. “I can feel how close you are, how much you want me.” 

“S—so much,” she promises. “I want you so much.” 

“If that’s true, Devi,” he whispers, “then come for me. Show me how beautiful you are when you do.” 

“You really think that I’m beautiful?” 

He leans down and kisses underneath her eyes. “I do.” 

His hand is digging into her thigh, painfully hard, the other one swiping up her back to press her closer into him, as he drives forward, and she snaps underneath him. 

She squeezes her eyes shut tight, and a tear slips down her cheek. “Ben, Ben, Ben,” she says, his name slipping off her tongue. He loves the way she says it, like she can’t stop herself, rolling off her tongue easily, sounding like lavender honey and cicada murmurs in a willow field, thick and heavy and heady, almost musky and dazed. 

He looks down at her and commits all of the details to memory, holds them precious and close. He raises a hand up and brushes away the tear, presses his lips to where it had been. 

“Devi.” 

He breaks, and she is the only thing keeping him grounded. 

She holds him while he buries his face in her neck, smoothing her hand up and down his back soothingly, gently. It’s a gentle touch, tender and thoughtful, reverent and relaxed, and he thinks it might just, for a moment, also be able to be described as lov—

No. That’s not how she feels. 

(he pushes the thought out of his mind, not even letting himself consider it. after sophomore year he had promised himself never to even think about that, to not even let himself entertain the notion she might feel that way. because she’d made it clear, a thousand times over, that she never could. that she only saw him as she always had, as a rival. and even now, with them as friends, he knows it cannot be. he knows  _ her, _ and so he is sure that she could never feel that way about  _ him. _ how could she?)

After what feels like hours, Ben lifts himself up from her neck and looks down at her. 

She reaches up and traces her fingers down his face, down from his forehead and across his eyelids, to the corner of his mouth, running her fingertips across every single inch of his skin. 

“What are you doing?” he murmurs, eyes locked on hers. 

Devi sighs, continuing to run her hands over his face. “Give me a minute.”

He stays still, hovering over her as she maps him out over and over again. She arches up, brushing her lips against his. “Thank you.” 

Ben kisses her again, pulling away from her so slowly his lips linger against hers. “I meant every word.” 

She lets her head fall back against the pillow. “You might want to get off of me and get dressed now,” she chuckles. “Before my mother comes home.” 

He presses a kiss to her shoulder in answer, rolling off of her to get rid of the condom and clean himself up. She sits up as well, grabbing her clothes from the floor. Ben groans, stretching and pulling his jeans on. 

As he stands up, he winces, feeling the scratches at his back pull, the skin red and raw. He’s got a lot of them, but he doesn’t mind. He runs a hand down his face and reaches for his shirt, but stiffens when he feels a pair of arms slide around his waist. 

“Are you going to leave?” Devi whispers. She learns forward and presses her lips against his back, against the scratches. 

He sighs. “I have to soon, don’t I?” 

“I just checked my phone,” she murmurs. “My mom has to stay late at work today. She won’t be home until like, 10 pm.” 

He can’t look at her, but turns his head to the side, so he can just see the color of her eyes out of the corner of his own. “What do you want me to do, Devi?” 

She presses her forehead against his shoulder blade, fingers dragging back and forth across his stomach, gently. Her nails scrape against his abs, and he can feel the rise and fall of her chest against his back. “Stay.” 

(it is the first time she has ever asked him. he has always been the one to broach the subject, and each time, she has answered with a yes, a no, or has simply not answered him. but this, this right here, and right now, she is asking  _ him _ to stay. with her. he should say no. he knows he will not)

“Ok.” 

Ben turns around, finds her standing there in just her bra and jeans. “What do you want to do?”

She slides her arms up to rest them on his shoulders. “Finish our work, and then eat dinner. What do you think?” 

“As long as I get to pick the food. If I let you pick, you’re going to make it ridiculously spicy,” he teases. 

Devi laughs. “It’s worth it to watch your face turn red.” 

“Hmm,” he hums. “You like watching me suffer, don’t you?” 

“It’s not  _ my _ fault your white boy taste buds are so pathetic, Gross.” 

Ben pulls away from her and tugs his shirt on, running his hand through his hair. “I don’t understand how you can be so mean to me.” 

“I’m not insulting  _ you, _ Gross, just your taste buds. Don’t be so sensitive.” 

“I don’t know, you seem quite mean, you know?” 

Devi pouts. “I’m sorry.” She bats her lashes exaggeratedly, dragging her finger up his sternum. “Can I do anything to make it better?” 

He laughs, grabs her wrists and tugs her in for a kiss. “There.” 

She dresses then, and sits down at her vanity, reaching for the bottle of concealer, and spreading it over her neck. He watches as the marks on her throat vanish, wishing she might be able to keep them for a bit longer.

It’s intimate, he thinks, far more intimate than he wants to admit. In the mirror of her vanity, her eyes lock with his. “What are you looking at, Ben?” 

He struggles to come up with an answer, grasping at straws. “W—why aren’t you using the concealer I got you?” 

Devi smirks, tucking the concealer back into the vanity dresser. “Don’t worry about it, Gross. I just need to finish one bottle before starting a new one.” 

“Oh.” 

She stands back up and tilts her head. “I’ll race you to see who can finish the work first.”

“You’re on, David.” 

Ben beats her, but by less than a minute, really, and leans back against her bed when he’s done. “So,” she breathes, setting her pencil down, “what do you want to eat?” 

“Pizza?” 

She nods, pulling her phone out. “Cool. I think I have enough money in my—” 

“Please, David, I’m not letting you pay for it.” 

“Ben, I’m good for it.” 

“I know you are, but I’m going to pay for it anyways,” he says, pulling out his wallet and handing her his credit card. 

She stares at it. “Ben.” 

“Take it, Devi.” 

“I mean, it is your rich boy money. I’m not above taking it.” She swipes the card out of his hand, putting the number in before handing it back to him. “We have fifteen minutes before the pizza arrives. What do you wanna do?” 

He smirks, grabbing her and pulling her into his lap. “I can think of something.” 

Devi raises an eyebrow. “Fifteen minutes? You can do better than that, Gross.” 

Ben nips at her jaw and slides his hand into her jeans. “I know I can. But I want a reward for beating you.” 

“Th—this is your reward?” she gasps. “Getting  _ me _ off?” 

“Yup.” 

She doesn’t fight him on it, he notes, and falls apart in his arms rather quickly, breathing heavily into his neck when he hears the doorbell ring.

“I’ll get it,” he whispers. “Be right back.” 

Ben grabs the food and heads back up to Devi’s room, finding her sitting cross-legged on her bed, scrolling through her laptop. 

“What’re you doing?” he asks, dropping the pizza on her bed.

She bites her lip, doesn’t look at him. “I was thinking we could watch a movie.” 

Ben raises an eyebrow. “You’re not gonna pick something dumb, right? Like, I don’t know, anything similar to  _ Riverdale? _ I don’t wanna watch anything dumb on Netflix.” 

Her eyes don’t flicker from the screen as she easily reaches over and grabs a pillow, tossing it at him so it hits him in the face. “I was thinking we could just watch a Marvel movie.” 

“As long as it’s a good one.” 

She snorts. “It’s the best one.  _ Iron Man.” _

“Incorrect,” he says, sitting down next to her and flipping open the pizza box.  _ “Black Panther _ is the best one, and that’s just facts.” 

She narrows her eyes. “It’s the second best one.  _ Iron Man _ is clearly the superior choice.” 

_ “Black Panther _ literally has the higher Rotten Tomatoes score, David.” 

She thwacks him with another pillow before grabbing a slice of pizza. “You just always have the wrong opinions, Gross.” 

“Just pick a damn movie, David.” 

She scowls at him, viciously typing at her laptop. As he gets his own slice and settles back on the covers of the bed, he glances at her screen, biting back a smile when he notices she’s picked  _ Black Panther. _

Devi lies down next to him, sighing. “You’re lucky I like this movie as much as I do.” 

He smirks. “You’re such a sucker, David.” 

“Don’t push it, Gross.” 

Ben taps her lightly on the arm. “Hey.” 

She faces him. “What?” 

“Thank you, Devi.” 

“I should be thanking you,” she laughs. “You turned a really shitty day around.”

“I am extremely talented,” he smirks. She just rolls her eyes and smacks him lightly in the chest, turning her attention back to the screen. 

Looking at her, he thinks, he wants to be here, wants to stay with her for all of eternity. Thinks about the fact that he loves her hair and her eyes and the slope of her nose, the graceful way it dips, the beautiful, gentle curve of her smile, the planes of her cheek. He thinks he could study her for all of eternity, and it wouldn’t be enough time, thinks he could study her until the universe underwent heat death, and it still wouldn’t be enough time. 

No time will ever be enough with her, he realizes. He wants her, wants her so much it makes his head spin and his heart ache. It hurts when he’s away from her, hurts when he has to leave her. It hurts him. 

He thinks about everything he loves about her, tries to find a single thing he doesn’t like about her, doesn’t love about her, but he can’t. 

Turning his attention back to the movie, he breathes, heart shaking in his chest, as he thinks about this. Thinks about how she makes him feel.

(thinks about the rule he’s always hated, murphy’s law: anything that can go wrong will go wrong. thinks about the version devi had whispered to him, a few weeks ago, the version she said her father had told her: anything that can happen  _ will _ happen, given enough time. he wonders which version they are)

He thinks about how her hand feels in his. Thinks about her laugh in his ear, and the way she makes him feel, even when she’s not by his side. Thinks about how she makes him be able to breathe. 

(he thinks he might love her) 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> your comments and kudos make me happier than eleanor watching a rom-com! come talk to me about the show! you can find me on tumblr: @[parkersedith](https://parkersedith.tumblr.com)


	10. act x: what about all the plans that ended in disaster?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“You should. Not many girls could strong-arm me into this,” he fires back._
> 
> _“Aww, you just admitted I’m special.”_
> 
> _Ben glances over at her, rolling his eyes. “I take it back. Don’t need your ego getting any bigger.”_
> 
> _She pouts exaggeratedly. “Don’t be so mean to me, Ben. I’ll tell you something nice about yourself.”_
> 
> _He jerks in shock, setting his soda in the cup holder. “What?”_
> 
> _Devi smiles. “Yeah. You know, occasionally, once in a blue moon, you can say something witty that makes me laugh.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is brought to you by leila's keysmashes when reading several snippets and rose's kickass new bicon bob
> 
> heyoooo guys! this chapter has everything but the kitchen sink in it, because it genuinely has everything but the kitchen sink. there's an insane amount of shit that goes down in the next 15k, so i hope you like it! just so clarify yes i am a masochist and i hope you enjoy this lmao
> 
> oh yeah and i went kind of crazy with the science nerding cause i love plants and history and i just like, kind of couldn't help myself, lol. i refuse to apologize
> 
> also i have a hand kink. that's it
> 
> (chapter title from “what about us” by p!nk)
> 
> ok, thank you so much!! enjoy!!!

Devi lets herself into his house, slipping her shoes off and walking in quietly. She shifts her purse on her shoulder, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. 

She glances around, frowning when she doesn’t see Ben right away. 

She hears it then, music. 

Devi’s lips curl up in an unbidden smile and she follows the music, getting a bit lost along the way. Finally, she finds the room, leaning against the door as she watches Ben play. 

His back is to her, but the loose, untensed line of his shoulders is beautiful. She never sees Ben like this, utterly relaxed and casual, comfortable. Ben is tightly wound up, strong and unwavering, but right now, when he plays, he is more like the Ben she only gets glimpses of, the one without a care in the world. It’s a side of him not many people—if anyone—gets to see, and she’s grateful she does.

(she loves any glimpse she gets of him, really. it’s hard to get ben to open up, sometimes, and she thinks that part of that is because she doesn’t try hard enough, like he does. ben is patient, is quiet and steady. he is the thunder to her lightning, rolling in waves and reverberating, and she is the spark of energy that lights on people on fire, the flash of light that shocks the sky) 

Her gaze falls to his hands, and she resists the urge to sigh as she watches his hands dance over the keyboard, graceful. The way the skin of his hands shifts and ripples as he plays, and the veins bulge slightly, beautiful and prominent. 

She loves his hands, loves the way they dance over her skin and the piano keys with equal grace, loves the way they flex. Even when their hands curl around one another, it sends shockwaves through her body. 

Devi coughs, attracting his attention, stepping further into the room. “Hey, Gross.” 

The music stops abruptly as he lifts his hands off the keys, and she feels a pang of regret that she spoke, stopping him from playing, stopping herself from watching his hands move over the keys beautifully. “Devi,” he says, smiling. 

She walks over to him and drops her purse on the floor, sliding next to him on the piano bench. 

“So,” she says, settling her fingers over the keys. “What are we learning today?” 

Ben grins at her. “You want another lesson?” 

Devi smiles back. “It’s Saturday. I’ve got time.” 

He nods at her, taking her hands in his and resting them on the keys. Lets her fingers push down on them slightly. “Ok, so let’s start with the scales.” 

Devi tries to pay attention to him, she really, really does, but the soft, gentle way he speaks to her about the keys, the patience in her voice is kind of fucking hot to her. She likes how knowledgeable he is, likes how his voice is firm and steady when he tells her what to do. 

Her skin feels hot, when he talks to her, and god, is she hot for teacher? Like, is she  _ really, seriously,  _ hot for teacher? 

Devi swallows roughly and tries to focus on something else, but fuck, the only thing to really focus on is either his hands or his voice, and both make her feel like she’s about to combust. 

She tries not to let her hands shake, as she watches his, watches the way his wrists twist and move and the way even the muscles in his forearms shift slightly as he plays. She wants those hands on her,  _ right now. _ She knows they’re good. 

She runs her tongue over her lips, resisting the urge to tell him to stop teaching and put those hands to better use. “So—so can you play something again?” she asks. 

“Sure.” Ben rests his hands over the keys and plays a song, one which Devi immediately recognizes as  _ Für Elise. _

“Easy pick, Gross.”

He flashes her a grin as he plays, which should not be so attractive, him effortlessly playing the piano while grinning at her, but suddenly, she wants him. So badly, it hurts. 

Her gaze drops to his mouth, and then to his hands, which doesn’t go unnoticed by him, and he stops playing suddenly, pulling his hands away from the piano.

“You like watching me play?” 

His voice has pitched low and gravelly, dark and promising. Devi’s heart pounds in her chest, her head a bit dizzy. “What?” she breathes. 

“You keep looking at my hands,” he murmurs. He’s staring at her, vibrant blue eyes locked with hers, but unwittingly, his hands flex. “I know you like them.” 

Devi’s not going to let herself be baited so easily on this. “They’re fine.” 

“Just fine?” he murmurs. “Those are the only adjectives you can think of? You had a lot more a few weeks ago.” 

“Nice for playing piano. I do fine with my own hands, though,” she smirks, enjoying the challenge that flashes in his eyes. “I don’t know how much I need you, you know.” 

“Hmm,” Ben says, mouth twisting into a bitter smile. “Interesting.” 

He wraps one of those beautiful, beautiful hands around her wrist and tugs her up off the bench, and she expects for him to take her to his room, so she’s surprised when he wraps his hands up around her waist and lifts her up, sitting her on the piano lid. 

“Ben, what are you—” 

Her question is cut off when he presses his lips to hers, firm and steady, and she moans into his mouth, words forgotten as she curls her hands into his shirt, tugging him closer. 

Ben’s mouth is hot on hers, hot and determined, and Devi’s can’t help but melt into his touch. His hand smoothes up the back of her dress, fingers pressing over the fabric into her spine, and she sighs. He steps closer to her, into the vee of her legs, hands smoothing over her whole body, setting her afire. 

Her other hand curls around his shoulder, nails digging into his back, and she feels like she’s going to melt right here, on top of his piano, like she’s going to pass out. 

She’s so wrapped up in kissing him, wrapped up in the way his tongue dances with hers and the steady, sure way he kisses her that she doesn’t even notice when one of his hands removes itself from her hip and slides up her dress, tugging her underwear off quickly, pushing it down her thighs before he slips two fingers inside of her, faster than she can process. 

Devi breaks off against his mouth with a moan of shock, colors flashing before her eyes. Her nails dig into his biceps. “Wh—what?” she breathes. 

Ben doesn’t miss a beat, nipping at her neck without a word as he twists his hand, rubbing against her. “Ben,” she gasps, again. “What—” 

He doesn’t say anything, just picks up the speed of his fingers, and Devi bucks against his hand, chasing that high, that release. “Oh my god,” she whimpers. “Fuck, Ben.” 

She tries to focus on him, tries to stop her eyes from slipping closed and writhing shamelessly against him but—fuck, it feels so good, like she’s about to combust spontaneously. She squeezes her eyes shut, focusing on his shoulders under her hands, and he’s—fuck, he knows exactly how to touch her to work her up. 

“I—I can’t,” she moans. “You—you have to—” 

It’s worse, she thinks, because he doesn’t say a word, just shifts his hands and sends shockwaves radiating throughout her body. He won’t speak, nothing beyond nipping at her neck and leaving marks she knows she’ll have to cover up in the morning. She’s still dressed, and she feels hot all over. 

Then he shifts his hand, presses his thumb against her clit, and she breaks, coming around his fingers, nails scrabbling gently at his shoulders. 

“Oh, oh,” she whines, head tipping back. “Ok.” 

Devi breathes, eyes fluttering open when she comes back to earth. “Nice choice of location,” she smirks. “Inventive.” 

Ben twists his hand again, and she jerks against him in shock when she realizes his fingers are still inside of her, moaning. “Ben, what—what are you doing?” 

“Isn’t it clear?” he says, speaking for the first time since he pushed her up on the piano. 

“But I—already did. Once,” she says.

He smirks against her jaw. “You think that’s enough for me?” 

Oh,  _ god. _ The dark, husky, rough quality of his voice has her heart pounding in her chest. There’s a promise there, something dark and wanting in his tone. It’s almost menacing, purposeful, and she wants him so badly she can taste it on her tongue.

“It—it’s not?” 

Ben finally moves back, his eyes locking with hers, and Devi gasps when she sees the look in them, visceral, naked hunger, the aching want. 

(the last time he looked at her like that was on the cliffs of malibu, like she was everything anyone could ever want in a person, like he would do anything, anything to have her, and she remembers the way she felt about it. it’s the exact same way she feels now, terrified, and yet, wanting. the part of her that wants to be his hasn’t gone away. she needs him, needs every single part of h—) 

He pulls out, thrusts his fingers back in, and she cries out. “Ben, god.” 

“You said you liked my hands. I want you to prove it. I’m making you come on my hands—just my hands.” 

“Fuck,” she groans. “Oh, fuck.” 

“Remember how I told you I did some reading on this?” he asks. 

Devi can’t even remember her own name now, can barely think of anything other than his hands, one wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer to him, the other one rubbing at the spot inside of her that drives her wild. He knows her so perfectly, so well. 

“Y—yes,” she chokes out. “I—I remember.” 

“You can do this,” Ben murmurs. He picks up speed, dragging his fingers in and out of her, thumb flicking over her clit, the pleasure building up inside of her, faster than the first time, his hands working at her easily, perfectly. 

“Do you want to know what I learned?” 

She nods, whimpering. “Fuck, go faster, go faster,” she says. 

“Well, the male brain undergoes a refractory period, which is why men can only come once. But the female brain doesn’t. After one orgasm, it’s equally sensitive, possibly even more sensitive, to subsequent orgasms.”

Ben slips another finger into her and she scores her nails harshly against the back of his shoulders, over the fabric of his shirt, scrabbling for purchase, rocking against his hand. “R—really?” she moans. 

Fuck, she feels like she’s about to explode, impossibly close. She aches for just a little more, just a bit more to tip over the edge, and she’s so close to the edge it  _ hurts, _ craving his hands to go harder, to drag her over the edge, into oblivion. 

It feels almost more debauched and vile that she’s currently almost fully dressed, and Ben  _ is _ fully dressed, and yet he’s still tormenting her like this. 

“Which is why,” he smirks, twisting his hand and pressing his thumb firmly against her clit, and she comes again, gasping and clutching his shoulders, “women can have multiple orgasms.”

Devi’s hand slams down against the piano as she breaks, head tipping back, and Ben reaches down, wrenching her hand off the piano and curling it around his waist. “Don’t touch the piano,” he growls. “Touch me.” 

His other hand comes up and curls around her thigh, and Devi tugs him closer. “Ben—Ben,” she gasps. “More,” she whines. 

“Just my hands,” he repeats. “I told you I would do it with just my hands.” 

He leans forward and sinks his teeth into her neck, and she moans, already feeling herself build up again. “Did you know the only other thing that lights our brains up as much as an orgasm is a seizure?” he whispers, tapping against her walls leisurely, as if he’s unaware just how much he’s affecting her. The thumb on the hand of his wrapped around her thigh strokes her skin, and even that small caress works her up. 

“You’re—you’re just doing this cause you can’t—can’t get it up,” she moans, hoping that baiting him is enough to get him to bring her up to his room. “Why do—don’t you fuck me like a man?” 

Ben smirks, running his tongue along her neckline. “I’ll fuck you how I want to, Devi,” he whispers. “You like it, don’t you? My hands on you, inside of you.” 

“I—” she chokes out. “I need—” 

“What do you need, Devi?” he says. “Come on. Tell me.” 

“Ben,  _ god, _ Ben.” 

Ben plunges his fingers into her,  _ harder, _ and she thinks she might pass out, the breath ripped from her lungs when he does so. She runs a hand through his hair, tugging on it, pulling him closer, and she wants to beg for him, but she won’t. She’s still got enough pride for that. 

His fingers flex inside of her, slide over the perfect place, and her thighs shake, a moan wrenching itself from her throat. She’s desperate, in physical  _ pain _ from how much she wants it, and she can’t—fucking think about anything else, the torment nearly overwhelming. 

“Ben, it hurts, Ben. I—” 

“The same areas that light up in our brain during orgasm light up when we’re in pain, did you know that?” he mutters, scraping his teeth against her collarbone. “How do you feel, right now, Devi? Tell me.” 

“So—so good, Ben,” she sobs. “I’m so close. You’re—I need your hands.” 

“Do you want me to make you feel even better? To give you what you need?” 

She nods dumbly, blinking back tears. “Yes, yes,” she chants. 

“Then you better tell me  _ exactly _ what you want my hands to do to you.” 

“I want your hands to make me come,” she gasps. “I want you to go faster and touch me. Harder, better.” 

That rips a snarl from his throat, and he pulls away. His eyes are blown wide, heart-stoppingly, almost violently blue. The kind of blue storms are. “You don’t think I’m touching you good enough right now?” 

“Well, I haven’t—haven’t come yet,” she gasps. “That’s not—my fault, is it? You have to do better.” 

Ben’s other hand grips her thigh,  _ tight, _ and he tugs her closer, and then he’s rubbing at her hard and fast, flicking his thumb over her clit, and she shatters, keening his name, hands tugging at his hair. She feels like water is flowing through her, like she’s melting into the ocean, contentment washing over her and dragging her down, a riptide current sending her spiraling to the depths of the sea. 

She sighs when she’s finally done, eyes flicking open to see him, and her skin is soaked in sweat, she’s fully dressed, and so is he, and she’s perched on the edge of his fucking piano where he made her fall apart  _ three fucking times _ with just his hands. 

God, Devi’s never going to be able look at his hands in the same way. Or hear piano music ever again. 

“Now,” he murmurs. “Do you like my hands?” 

Devi chokes out a dry, brittle laugh. “You’re such a fucking asshole,” she chokes out. 

He pulls his fingers out of her, and she groans, both upset and thankful at the reprieve, but then he’s rubbing lazy circles over her clit and she jolts against him, each pass of his fingertips against her like another bolt of lightning striking her. 

Ben leans in, tugging on her earlobe with his teeth for a quick second before whispering, “I want to see how little touching it takes for me to get you off again.” 

She whimpers, but tugs him closer, digging her nails into his back to steady herself, burying her face in his neck, and thanking the gods she brought concealer in her purse. 

* * *

Devi’s reaching for her phone when she feels it, on her back, and she bites back a smile. 

“Ben,” she scolds gently, grabbing her phone. “What are you doing?” 

“Writing Latin,” he answers, dragging his finger across her back. “Can you guess?” 

“You’re not writing Latin,” she snorts. “You’re just drawing random circles. Still haven’t had enough of me?” 

“Just let me do this, David,” he smirks. 

Devi rolls her eyes. “You’re insane, you know that?” 

“So are you.” 

Leaning back into his touch, Devi turns on her phone, and swears when she sees the date.

“Are you fucking serious?” 

Ben blinks at her, furrowing his brows. “What?” 

Devi swears, flopping on her back. “I hate love,” she groans. 

“I’m gonna need a little more context as to what exactly called this feeling out of you, David.” 

“It’s Valentine’s Day,” she groans. 

“Romantic one, isn’t it?” 

She narrows her eyes as she turns her head. “What?” 

Ben smirks, leaning back on his hands. “I mean?” He raises an eyebrow, gesturing around them. 

Devi rolls her eyes, turning over onto her stomach. “Sex is  _ literally _ the one thing we do regularly together.” 

“Besides bicker?” he says. 

“Fair enough. That too.” 

“What do you have against Valentine’s Day, David?” 

Devi scowls at him. “I don’t need to see people making out more than usual. I hate seeing people make out on a regular day. Plus, the whole concept of having a day specifically necessary to show your partner how much you love them is insulting. That, and it’s a holiday specifically manufactured by the greeting card and chocolate industry to make money.” 

“Actually,” he says, “it originated when, on the evening—” 

“Saint Valentine was to be executed, he wrote a letter for the daughter of his jailer, signing it “Your Valentine,” I know, Ben.” Devi sticks her tongue out at him. “Don’t mansplain Valentine’s Day to me. I still think it’s dumb.” 

“You don’t think it’s romantic at all?” 

She snorts. “You do?” 

He scratches the back of his neck. “I mean—I guess I’ve just never been with someone who I thought was worthy spending Valentine’s with.” 

Devi wrinkles her nose. “Paxton was never big on that.” 

“What a shock,” he drawls. 

She reaches over and smacks him on the chest. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Ben cocks his head, eyes narrowing. “Why did you guys stay together for so long?” 

She jerks back in shock. “What?” 

“I mean, clearly, you got over him really quick.” Ben raises an eyebrow. “Or, did you not?” 

“You jealous, Gross?” she quips, but the smile slips off her face at the searching look in his blue eyes. She wonders how something can be so shallow and so deep at the same time, so full of emotion she cannot even begin to understand. 

(in sophomore—sophomore year, there had always been this—halfway sort of look he had whenever he looked at her, and it had terrified her beyond comprehension. because she was slowly starting to come to the realization that there was nothing she wouldn’t do for him. throw herself overboard, jump off of a cliff, break her own heart. the list was endless, and that, perhaps, is what terrified her. and then she had come back from india and the look in his eyes had vanished, and it had broken some part of her. she doesn’t dare hope it’s back) 

“No,” he murmurs. “Just curious.” 

“At the end of it, it wasn’t even a relationship. We didn’t even kiss each other for the last month we were together, I think,” she recounts. “It was a friendship. And he’s still my friend, so I really had nothing to get over.” 

“So Valentine’s was never anything big?” 

She shakes her head. “Nope.” 

“Well, what do you normally like to do on it, then?” 

Devi bites her lip, shuffling over to him. “What, we can’t just have marathon sex?” 

“As aware as I am of your attraction to me, David,” he says dryly, “no, I don’t think that’s what you want to do. Come on. Think of something else. It’s only 1pm.” 

She sighs. “Um, the mall? I normally just go hang out with Eleanor and Fabiola there.” 

Ben nods. “Ok then.” 

He tosses the covers off and starts getting dressed, and Devi gapes at him. “What are you doing?” 

“I don’t want to laze around all day, David, so, we’re going to the mall.”

“Ben,” she groans. “I don’t want to see all those stupid couples holding hands. I hate PDA.” 

Ben just tosses her clothes at her, smacking her in the face with them. “Don’t be boring, David.” 

“Please, Ben,” she whines. “I don’t want to go to the mall.” 

“Fine,” he relents, as she slides off the bed. 

She hooks her bra on and pulls on her jeans, frowning at the red spots on her neck. 

Devi steps into his bathroom and pulls out her concealer. “Well,” Ben says, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorway into his bathroom. “Do you trust me?” 

She snorts, carefully applying the concealer for the hickeys that litter her chest, glancing from the corner of her eye at him. “You’re quoting  _ Aladdin  _ at me? Seriously, Gross, don’t you ever have any of your own material?” 

Ben rolls his eyes. “Just answer the question, David.” 

(of course, she wants to say, not a moment’s hesitation in her voice. she is surer of that fact than more things in her life, that she trusts ben. she trusts him like the tides trust the moon to pull them along, a dance of gravity, an unspoken, unseen, everlasting connection) 

“Occasionally,” is what she says instead. “Today happens to be one of those occasions.” She caps the concealer and tosses it in her bag, ducking out of his bathroom to tug on her shirt again. “What do you have planned?” 

He grins at her. “You’ll see.” 

Devi narrows her eyes at him, frustrated at his evasiveness, but she lets it go, following him out the door. She opens the car door and hops in, buckling her seatbelt. 

“Gonna kill me, Gross?” 

“Seriously, why do you always think that’s what I’m trying to do to you?” 

“Cause you’re always trying to get me to a secondary location.” 

He rolls his eyes. “You’re the one who comes along.” 

Unfortunately, he  _ is _ right, something she kind of hates. 

Devi breathes out, and leans back against her seat, looking at the window as Ben drives, relaxed. Silence with him has become a lot easier, has lost the tenseness it used to hold, is something she doesn’t mind quite as much. Usually, Devi feels compelled to break the silence, compelled to fill it with meaningless chatter, but she doesn’t, with Ben. 

Maybe because it’s never  _ really _ meaningless with him. Nothing about any moment she spends with him is meaningless. Even their easy laughter is layered. Everything about Ben has layers. 

(fuck, now she’s quoting shrek in her mind, comparing her and ben’s relationship to an onion, and she kind of hates her brain.

perhaps it is not so much like a onion, which, really, is a rather unromantic image. those are ephemeral, vanishing quickly. no, her and ben’s relationship is like the layers of sentiment rock mountains hold, eons in the making, epochs in the space of a palm, pressed against stone. they are slowly, sure, and steady, in their buildup, and when split down the center, she can track their path easily) 

She doesn’t recognize where they’re going until he pulls into the parking lot, and she sees the sign. 

“The botanical gardens?” she says, raising an eyebrow. “You brought me here?” 

Ben hops out of the car and smirks at her, closing the door. Devi shuts hers behind her and brushes imaginary lint off her shirt. “Yeah,” he says, shrugging. “Have you ever been here before?” 

She shakes her head. “No. I haven’t.” 

He smiles at her, not a bright, wide, grin, but softer, muted, and it gives her the strangest feeling, like she’s underwater, dizzying, drowning everything else out. “You’re gonna love it.” 

Ben sets off for the entrance to the gardens, gesticulating wildly with his hands as he talks to her about the space. “So,” he starts, “there’s a lot of different things to see here, you know you have your—” 

“Plants?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

Ben laughs. “Obviously. But there’s also tons of different gardens, walking areas, and they have a really nice restaurant inside. Come on.” 

She pushes past the crowd, which—she should have expected, it’s a lovely day, the place is packed, but nearly loses Ben in it. 

“Trying to get rid of me that easy, Gross?” she calls. 

“Shit, sorry,” he says, glancing behind him. He reaches out and wraps his hand around hers, tugging her along, and she thinks she loses her voice. 

(so much of her wants to stop this right now, well aware she is further entrenching herself in a risky, undefined situation with him. why can’t she resist? why can’t she resist him?

(she has never been able to)

and that, right there, is what she thinks will kill her. she is actively participating in the breaking of her own heart) 

He lets go of her hand to pay for their tickets, but then grabs it once more, pulling her along, and she laughs, stumbling as she tries to keep up with him. 

“This like, your dream place, isn’t it?” she teases, looking at his wide eyes. 

“Nerd heaven,” he grins back. 

“Knew you were a nerd.” 

“Excuse me, who knows the history of Valentine’s Day at the drop of a hat?” he shoots back. 

Devi laughs. “First, so do you. Second, I never said I wasn’t. Just that you’re the bigger one.” 

He rolls his eyes, a smile playing at his lips. “Yeah, yeah,” he says, giving in easy. “Come on.” 

She listens carefully as he guides them to one of the green spaces. “So, you know, this is my second favorite part of the gardens,” he says, ambling down the walkway. 

Devi cocks her head. “Why?” 

“There’s something very soothing about being surrounded by nature.” 

“Walk in the woods once in a while.”

“Not like that, David. There’s just something really peaceful about being surrounded by all different types of trees and plants. You know, there’s such an abundance of things we don’t know. Did you know plants have viruses? Like, nobody ever thinks about plant viruses. Not to mention the sheer amount of medicinal compounds that plants hold. Aspirin, salicylic acid, vitamin C.” 

“You definitely have a favorite plant.” 

He ducks his head, blushing slightly. “What makes you say that?” 

Devi bites back a smile as they turn the corner. “The fact that you’re going full nerd on me right now.”

“I was not going full nerd.” 

“You know aspirin is derived from salicylic acid, right? Plus, plants hold just as many poisons as well as helpful compounds. Hello, aconitine?” 

“Wolfsbane, right?” 

She shoots him a smile. “Exactly.” 

He pulls her over into a corner, and for a brief second, she thinks he might kiss her before he spins her around and points. “There.” 

Devi feels his breath brush her ear, but she follows the line of his finger, focusing on that, narrowing her eyes to see better what he’s pointing at. 

“You found it,” she says, slightly impressed. 

(slightly. not much) 

“Yup,” he says, dropping his hand and curling it around her right shoulder. She thinks she can just feel his shirt brush against her back if she concentrates hard enough, and she wishes—oh, she  _ wishes— _ that she might be able to melt back into him, to rest in the oasis of his arms. 

His hand is still holding hers, and she hopes he can’t feel how it shakes.

“Did you know that wolfsbane has a long and storied history when it comes to humans?” she murmurs. 

“Really?” he whispers back. “Tell me about it.” 

“Well,” she starts, trying to focus on not letting her voice shake as his fingers trace lazy circles on her arm, “it was said that wolfsbane popped up when Hercules took Cerberus up from the Underworld, and when he shook his head upon seeing the light, his spit flew everywhere, and where it landed, wolfsbane grew.” 

“Disgusting,” Ben quips. 

“It was also said that Hecate was the one who discovered that it could be used as a poison, and that Greek shepherds would smear it on arrows to keep wolves away from sheep. That’s how it got the name wolfsbane.” 

He snorts. “Fun times for those poor wolves.” 

She smacks him in the chest without even turning around. “Am I going to have to put up with your running commentary this whole time?” 

“What, you don’t want my sparkling conversation?” he laughs, right in her ear, sending shivers down her spine. 

“Would appreciate it less if you didn’t keep interrupting me.” 

“Aww, I’m sorry, David,” he pouts. “Come on, keep going.” 

“It’s a pretty flower, isn’t it?” she says, tilting her head to the side. 

“It is,” he agrees. 

“Some people thought that the smell of the plant alone was enough to cause death.” 

“Did it smell like the boys’ locker room?” he mutters, and she bursts out laughing. 

“Oh god, I hope not.” 

Ben shifts slightly, pressing a bit closer to her, and Devi swallows, grappling for the facts to try and help herself stay under some semblance of control. “In the mid 1700s, though, the language got super mixed up and it was said that wolfsbane—more commonly referred to as aconite—could treat anything.” 

“That’s some mix up.” 

He smells like sandalwood, and it’s intoxicating. She fights the urge to close her eyes and slump back against him, let him hold her up. It’s too much, it’s wrong. 

(it’s not who they are to each other, and she would do well to remember that) 

“For some strange reason, it didn’t work,” she drawls. “It might have killed one too many patients. It gained a lot of popularity in homeopathy, though, even if the standard medical community didn’t accept it. It was used to calm women down during “nasty periods,” which is—ridiculous.” 

“That’s history for you,” he grumbles. 

“Of course the actual  _ amount _ of aconite in most of these remedies was so miniscule it was negligible in the human body, so there’s that as well. Around the mid-1800s, orthodox physicians started paying attention. In some controlled doses, it seemed to do well with controlling inflammation, and then it became a lot more popular. Mixed with other things, it was often used as a pain-killer and to treat some things, like infections.” 

“It’s still a poison, though, isn’t it?” 

Devi snorts. “Yup. And of course, when you get into the effects of aconite on the human body, you really start to see how it can wreak havoc on you. It does this because of aconitine, which is the actual compound that makes you sick by—” 

Whatever she is about to say is cut off when Ben’s mouth presses against hers. She stiffens against him in shock, for a moment, before sighing and letting her eyes flutter shut, sliding her hands up his back to pull him closer. 

He kisses her with  _ intent, _ and it makes goosebumps erupt over her arms, her heart fire away in her chest at breakneck speed. He pulls her closer, slanting his mouth over hers harder, so he can kiss her deeper. 

Devi’s head spins as she kisses him back, trying to keep up with him, her whole body curving into his. Just as she feels herself starting to really get into the kiss, to really lose herself in his mouth, he pulls away, so quick it gives her whiplash from flying so high. 

“Fuck,” Ben breathes, his cheeks flushed pink. He runs his tongue over his lips, which her eyes are fixed on. “You’re really fucking hot.” 

Her fingers flex against his back, and she blinks at him, a bit dazed. “Me chattering on about my favorite plant does it for you, Gross?” 

“Hmm,” he affirms. His eyes dart back down to her lips. “You know you’re hot, Devi.” he murmurs. “Don’t pretend like you don’t.” 

The kiss-roughened tone of his voice sets her aflame, and for a moment she considers dragging him back to the car and making him take her to his home, but then he steps away, giving her hand a squeeze before he drops it, and she shoves that want down. 

“So,” she smirks. “Do you have a favorite plant?” 

He nods. “Periwinkle.” 

Devi scrunches her nose up. “Seriously?” 

He nods, and they start walking again. “Yeah, actually. Vincristine is derived from the periwinkle plant, which can help treat cancer, since it prevents the formation of microtubules, which, you know, stops the sister chromatids from separating during mitosis.” 

“Ben, that’s literally the nerdiest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.” 

“Which one of us referenced Greek mythology when talking about our favorite plant?” 

“Fuck,” she swears. “Fair point.” 

He laughs, glancing to his side, and gasps, like a little kid. “Oh, you have  _ got _ to see this, David.” He holds his hand out expectantly, and she tangles their fingers without a second thought, only realizing she’s done that when he tugs, pulling her along. 

She listens to him chatter on about the different plants for a bit, occasionally interjecting with her own opinions/facts she knows about what he’s saying. It’s fun, really, walking through the gardens and learning what Ben knows. She enjoys it, a lot. Probably more than she should.

Finally, though, they reach the back of that section of the gardens, and Ben grins. 

“Here. My favorite part.” 

Devi furrows her brow, but Ben just pulls her along. “Ben? Where are we—” 

She breaks off when she enters the room, glancing around in confusion. 

At first, Devi doesn’t quite know what she’s looking at, blinking her eyes to better take in the sight in front of her. 

When she finally realizes what she’s looking at, it’s so stunning, it punches the air from her lungs, like a firework exploding in her heart. 

“Oh my god, Ben,” she breathes. 

He grins at her. “You like it?” 

A thousand—no, more, five thousand—butterflies fill the room, a high, glass dome stretching far above her head, and everywhere Devi looks, butterflies flit in front of her eyes. Red, yellow, purple, a kaleidoscope of color shifting and moving. They’re beautiful. 

She slips her hand out of Ben’s and reaches up, utterly transfixed. “Oh my god,” she whispers. “They’re—gorgeous,” she whispers.

She turns her head, watching as a vivid, bright red butterfly lands on a leaf, prompting a dozen more to fly off. It’s so beautiful and peaceful it takes her breath away. The butterflies move like she thinks how the notes of music would move if they were tangible things, dancing on the air, dipping and rising, light and delicate. 

She steps forward and watches as the butterflies on a bush take off, a laugh escaping her. “This is amazing,” she murmurs. 

“I knew you’d like it.” 

Devi turns to see a butterfly with brown wings, in profile, wings that look like it has a dozen eyes staring at her. She reaches for it, and it takes off, and she can’t help but laugh. It’s  _ ethereal. _

“Come on,” Ben murmurs, guiding her further into the conservatory. “Stand here, and be very, very still.” 

She’s so enthralled by the butterflies she listens to what he said without a word of protest, twisting her head around and around to try and take every moment in. 

They fly around her lazily, and she feels a pull to them, a connection she cannot begin to describe. She thinks she could stand here and watch them for the rest of the day, and have the butterflies watch her right back, at peace. A comforting sort of aloneness. 

Devi feels something on her shoulder, and furrows her brow, glancing down on it and freezing when she sees a butterfly, gently opening and closing its wings on her shoulder. “Ben,” she whispers. 

“I know. Don’t move. More will come.” 

She holds her arms out and tries not to  _ breathe _ too intensely, letting the butterflies come to her. 

They do, slowly but surely, landing on her arms and her head, and she can’t stop looking at them, taking them in. “Oh, they’re so beautiful.” 

On her hand, a blue morpho butterfly lands, and Devi feels all of the air leave her lungs. She looks at them and sees the exact same shade of blue as she finds in Ben’s eyes, the same exact shade. 

(in nature, blue is danger and serenity. the ocean and sky are volatile and tempestuous, and yet, she longs to know more about them, finds solace in how infinite they are. almost every single living, breathing thing that is blue is laced with poison, is deadly to the body. blue butterflies and blue skin and blue eyes, all warning signals for danger. but she has always been drawn to dangerous things, and within ben, she finds both serenity and danger.

he is the blue-eyed boy who broke her heart (or did she break his?) and sometimes, all it takes is touching the skin of a poisonous thing to fall prey to it. but does a bird ever regret eating the butterfly that has poisoned it?) 

Devi looks over at him, and she nearly collapses at the look in his eyes, intense and dark and wanting and—

(malibu malibu malibu) 

“Ben, I—” 

(what is she going to say what is she going to say what is she going to say?) 

“Don’t,” he murmurs. “You’ll disturb them.” 

(a thousand and one things left unsaid between them) 

Devi feels a tickle on her arm and looks over to see a butterfly, crawling down to her elbow. She laughs, happiness bursting in her chest, a sparkler, rather than a firework. “They’re amazing.” 

She smiles as she looks down at them, and then she glances up at Ben, who’s holding his phone up, pointing right at her. “You’re missing the scenery,” she hisses. 

“No,” he whispers back. “Stay where you are. It’s perfect.” 

She rolls her eyes, smiling at him. “You’re so ridiculous.” 

“You love it,” he whispers back. 

(she wants to seize this moment with both hands, stop the world and hold it close to her chest. no picture can ever hope to capture it, ever hope to capture what she is feeling in her body right now. it consumes her, like the sea consumes sand castles, washing away evidence they were ever there. she knows, in a minute, this moment will be gone, limited by the relentless march of time, and she  _ hates _ it. she doesn’t want her present to become her past, not when she’s with ben) 

He tucks his phone away after a moment, though, and although it is on the tip of her tongue to ask him to show her the photo, a fragile, fairy circle peace is between them, a cryptic sort of space. 

Everything in the world has distilled down to her and Ben and these butterflies, the only matter in the world the space they occupy. She thinks every single one of his atoms was crafted to match hers, and there is a siren song in his veins that calls to her. 

(when she looks into those blue, blue irises of his, devi understands for the first time in her life why they call it the eye of the hurricane. the one, steadying, central spot amongst a mass of storm clouds and gray skies. when she looks into his eyes she thinks he is more force of nature than human) 

Devi swallows roughly and glances back down at her arms. “I think I could stay here forever.”

“Take all the time you want.” 

She flexes her hand, stops herself from wishing too viscerally that she might take his in hers. 

Surprisingly—or maybe not, he  _ has _ always given her what she wanted—they stay there for a few hours. Her arms hurt after a bit, so she lets them drop, but eventually she and Ben end up on a bench, staring at the butterflies. He points out his favorite ones to her, and they sit, and watch. 

Her  _ heart _ feels like it is a butterfly, and she thinks it is the most beautiful thing someone has ever done for her, to share something so special with her. 

(ben has always given her butterflies) 

Eventually, though, it gets late enough that Devi starts to feel compelled to leave. “Ben,” she murmurs, quietly. 

She turns to look at him, and it rips the breath out of her lungs. His eyes are closed, face tipped up toward the ceiling, and the shadows play over his face, muted and sharp all at the same time.

Soft, easy, relaxed. He looks like he is at peace. 

(why is he never at peace with her?)

Devi reaches out and lets her hand hover over his cheek, desperately trying to quash the urge to cup his jaw and pull him for a kiss that  _ never _ ends. She has to kill this feeling, right now. 

But it’s like a fucking virus, one she can’t seem to full fight off. Ben is a persistent infection, a retrovirus making his way into her genome and changing her very DNA so that she wants him more with each passing day, with each passing moment. 

He’s beyond an infection her body fights against, beyond a virus she recognizes as malignant, beyond one she has symptoms to. He’s so entrenched in her he is one that evolves with her, one that understands her systems so well, she doesn’t see him as a threat. 

(and he is. ben is the most dangerous thing she has ever known) 

And it’s a dangerous spiral, because she wants him more and more the more time she spends with him, and then she wants to spend more time with him, and it’s a mindfuck of monstrous proportions, an ouroboros of her own making. 

“Ben,” she murmurs, again. 

Her hand drops just as his eyes flicker open. “Sorry,” he says. 

“Don’t apologize. I just have to get home.” 

“Right. Of course.” 

Ben stands up and holds out his hand to her, and she hesitates for the first time all day before placing her hand in his. He pulls her up, fingers brushing her palm as he lets go of her hand. “Straight home?” he murmurs. 

Devi opens her mouth to say yes, but then her stomach growls.  _ Loud. _ She blushes when Ben smirks at her. “Maybe we can grab a snack on the way?” 

Ben nods. “Sure. Cheeseburgers?” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets as he walks out of the conservatory. 

Devi grins. “You know it.” 

“Truly, fine dining. Glad to see you’ve developed an appreciation for the finer things in life, David.” 

“Despite your attempts to brainwash me into being ridiculously pretentious like you, Gross, I remain as unaffected and amazing as ever.” 

Ben smirks at her, pulling his keys out of his pocket to unlock the car as they step to it. 

“You call it pretension, and I call it sophistication,” he calls, and she climbs in.

Devi leans back against the warm leather and refuses to look at him. “Just feed me, you heathen.” 

“Bossy.” 

Thankfully, though, Ben doesn’t protest, quickly navigating them to the nearest fast-food place, only five minutes away from the gardens, as the restaurant there is closed. “Do you want me to go in and order?” he asks, unbuckling his seatbelt. 

Devi snorts. “Hell no. I’m not a weakling. I’m ordering my own food.” 

She hops out of the car and grabs her purse. “And you’re letting me cover it,” she says. 

Ben raises his eyebrows. “I am?” 

She nods firmly, pushing open the glass door with a bit more force than necessary. “You are.” 

They stand in line, which, unsurprisingly, is pretty short. “May I ask why? You usually take any opportunity to take my money.” 

“I do, but considering you’ve paid the last like, six times we’ve gotten food together, I figured it was my turn to pick up some of the slack. You know, at least a little bit.” 

“You can pay for your portion, but I refuse to let you pay for mine.” 

“Ben!” 

“Sorry, Devi, it’s not happening.” 

“Ugh,” she groans. “Why are you so fucking stubborn?” 

“Have you ever heard of this saying: the pot calling the kettle black? I think it’s really app—” 

She socks him in the arm, stopping him in the middle of his sentence. He doesn’t miss a beat, simply laughing, turning to her with a smile. 

(this is the moment where she falls in love, like, really, truly, deeply in love with his smile. she refuses to acknowledge it, but this is it. she thought she loved his smile before, but that is nothing compared to this, a whole conservatory of butterflies in her stomach)

“I’m just your punching bag, aren’t you?” 

“Well, I just have to find a way to get all my frustrations out, don’t I?” 

“Isn’t that what the sex is for?” he drawls. 

Devi drops her voice to a whisper, leaning in. “Do you want me to dominate you, Ben?” She flips her hair over her shoulder and bats her lashes, trying to inject the proper amount of seductiveness into her voice. “I can do that, if you want. If BDSM is really your thing,” she purrs. Or tries to. She thinks she just sounds like she’s got peanut butter in her mouth. 

He can’t help himself, bursting into bright, loud laughter. Devi giggles as well, raising her hand to cover her mouth, and she’s well aware they’re attracting strange looks from everyone around them, but she doesn’t care. 

“Fuck, Devi, please never use that voice again,” he chokes out. 

“Why, Ben? Does it turn you on so much you can’t handle it?” 

“You sound like a forest witch who got high on opium,” Ben shoots back, stepping up to the counter. 

“I choose to take that as a compliment,” she says. 

She orders her food quickly, pulling out her wallet, and narrows her eyes when Ben adds extra fries onto his order. “Extra fries?” 

He shrugs. “Growing boy.” 

“You can’t keep using that excuse for everything, Gross.” 

“I can if it’s true.” 

They lounge around, waiting for their food to be called, and thankfully, it’s not very long until they’re grabbing their boxes and headed out. “Come on,” he says, tilting his head away from the tables. “We can eat in my car.” 

Devi raises an eyebrow. “Ben Gross, willing to break the sanctity of his car for me? I feel so special.” 

“You should. Not many girls could strong-arm me into this,” he fires back. 

“Aww, you just admitted I’m special.” 

Ben glances over at her, rolling his eyes. “I take it back. Don’t need your ego getting any bigger.” 

She pouts exaggeratedly. “Don’t be so mean to me, Ben. I’ll tell you something nice about yourself.” 

He jerks in shock, setting his soda in the cup holder. “What?” 

Devi smiles. “Yeah. You know, occasionally, once in a blue moon, you can say something witty that makes me laugh.” 

“I feel so adored.” 

Devi sighs, overly heavy. “You’re really going to make me say it, aren’t you?” 

He props his chin up on his hand, elbow on the CD case between the driver and passenger seats, blue eyes dancing with mirth. “Say what, Devi?” he quips. 

She scowls at him. He’s having way too much fun teasing her, but the worst part is, she  _ likes _ it. 

Ben teasing her is nothing new, but Devi’s never liked it as much as she does now. “Are you really doing this?” 

He just raises his eyebrows and continues smiling at her, patiently waiting. 

She glares at him. “I’m only saying this once, so listen carefully, Gross. You…”

“I….” he drags out. 

“You make me laugh, ok!” she bursts out. 

“There,” he says, smiling at her. It’s not a smirk, but bright and genuins, wide, and it warms her more than any fire could. “Now, was that so hard?” 

In reality, no, it wasn’t something hard to admit. Ben makes her laugh, regularly, and when she laughs she feels  _ free. _ Ben’s laugh is her favorite sound in the entire world. 

As retaliation, she leans over and snags one of his fries. To her surprise, he doesn’t even flinch. 

Narrowing her eyes at him, Devi pops the fry in her mouth. ‘Why did you just let me steal your fries?” 

“Why did you think I got extra ones, David?” 

Devi’s mouth parts, in shock. “You got—extra fries for me?” 

“Well, not for you,” he says, taking a sip of his soda. “I just knew no matter what, you’d end up stealing my fries. So, I got enough for the both of us.” 

(it’s strange that this—him getting extra fries for the both of them—makes her heart flutter like a flag in the wind, intensifying when he shoots a kind smile at her. part of her wonders if anyone else in the world will know her as well as ben does, things she didn’t even have to tell him. he’s cracked her code without the cipher, without an enigma machine. he renders her totally helpless, no defenses possible to save her) 

No. Not thinking about that. 

She glances out the window, momentarily noting that the sky is bleeding from day into night, lilac and rose mixing into indigo and midnight.

Devi reaches over again and steals another fry. “Well, I hope you know now I’m just going to take exclusively from your fries now.” 

Ben laughs, sipping his drink. For a moment, she wonders how he would taste if she kissed him right now. Salty, from the fries? Sweet, from the soda? 

She wants it so bad her head is spinning with it. 

(she thinks about that quote from  _ othello _ she loves so much, “killing myself, to die upon a kiss” when she looks at his lips. she would do anything to feel his lips upon hers. anything at all)

Fortunately, Ben reaches over and steals one of her fries, breaking her from this trance. “So,” he murmurs. “We’re even.” 

“We’re never really even, Gross.” 

He just grins back at her. 

It’s way, way too easy to sit here in Ben’s car and steal french fries from one another, to eat her cheeseburger and not worry about the way she ate, like she always did with Paxton. She doesn’t worry about anything other than enjoying herself. It’s far, far too easy to enjoy herself. 

(ben does—does something to her, makes her want to quote sixteenth century playwrights and chilean poets, makes her want to compose every single song in the universe and commission a thousand and one artists to paint a portrait of him in the hopes they might capture the color of his eyes. he makes her want to sculpt a million pieces of his hands and to write fucking sonnets, trying to describe the way his mouth curves into a smile)

“Did you like the conservatory? And the gardens?” he asks, polishing off the rest of his burger. 

Devi swallows a sip of soda and nods. “I loved them. Thanks for taking me. I should have known some place as nerdy as that would be your favorite,” she teases. “I’ll admit, I was a little shocked it wasn’t a museum.” 

He laughs, low and rough. Like always, it makes heat pool in her stomach, warm and intoxicating, better than any alcohol she’s ever had. “Well, I do like museums.” 

She tilts her head, swallowing her food. “Why didn’t you take me to a museum, then? Why here?” 

Ben sighs, tapping his fingers against the side of his drink cup. “When we were in the butterfly conservatory, did you feel alone?” 

Devi’s brows knit together. “What?” she asks, completely baffled. 

“I promise, this will make sense. Just—answer the question?”

She stares at him for a second, wondering if he’s serious, but when he doesn’t say anything, she realizes he’s waiting for her answer. 

Devi runs her tongue over her lips. “Yes,” she murmurs. “But peacefully alone.” 

He nods. “Yeah. I knew you would.” 

(being alone and being lonely are not the same thing) 

Somehow, in some way, she understands what he means. There is nothing he needs to say, now, nothing he needs to show her to make her understand him more. 

(devi is not wrong—not frequently, at least, but she’s starting to think she might have been wrong for the past two years when it comes to ben. she’d always had more trouble than he. ben was able to understand her without a second thought, reading her with startling ease, but devi—devi could never do the same to him. she always struggled more, struggled to unlock those secrets and feelings he kept locked away so securely. but right now, she realizes she is wrong. because she can see into ben’s soul just as much as he can into hers. she just never tried hard enough before) 

“I get it. I do.” 

Ben looks over at her, blue eyes sucking in all of the light, like a black hole. They glow, almost fluorescently bright, and the weight of them on her is like the weight of the sky on her shoulders. 

(achilles, not atlas, she reminds herself) 

Devi tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, her hands shaking. 

“Can I tell you something?” she asks. 

He nods. “Of course, Devi.” He reaches over and takes her hand, thumb stroking over the back of her hand. “You don’t ever have to ask.” Ben gives her a soft, tender smile, the one she knows is reserved for her. 

(it scares her, that he has a special smile for her, but, she supposes, she has one for him too) 

“We’re friends.” 

Devi nods, gripping his hand tightly. “Do—do you remember how on New Year’s, you asked me about what happened on prom night with me and Paxton?”

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, Devi.” 

Breathing is so, so hard right now, but she tries to do it, focuses on the way his fingers gently trace over the lines on her palm. “No,” she says, shaking her head. “I want to tell you. I need to tell someone.” 

He just nods, listening. He waits for her. 

(when has he not?)

“It—it wasn’t what everyone thought it was about,” she starts. “It wasn’t about Paxton.” 

To her surprise, he smiles, a bit sad. “Yeah,” he whispers. “I didn’t really think so.” 

“The rumors died down eventually,” she says, “but not one of them were true. I didn’t cry because of anything Pax—Paxton did to me. It wasn’t even really about him. I cried because of my dad.” 

Slow, steadying breaths. In. Out. In. Out. 

(one two three four five six seven eight) 

“It just—hit me, really badly, while we were dancing, that he wasn’t going to be there, you know? Not for any of the big milestones in my life. He wouldn’t get to see me graduate or—or get married or see me become a kick-ass doctor and it’s just—just like—” 

She breaks off into a sob. “I don’t know. I guess I broke down. And—and Paxton was there, you know, he was there and he let me cry and I needed that. But that doesn’t change the fact that my dad won’t be there.” 

Devi blinks tears away and looks up into Ben’s eyes. “Sometimes I think I’m selfish for wanting more time with him. Is that a bad thing?”

He reaches out and runs his thumb under her cheek, and she realizes she’s started crying without even knowing it. “No.” 

(his voice is firm and quiet and steady. how can someone be a gentle sea breeze and tornado all at the same time?) 

“Never a bad thing.” 

Devi leans back in her chair and closes her eyes. “I wanted Paxton to fix me  _ so bad, _ Ben. I wanted him to put me back together after my dad died.” 

“Did you think he could?” 

“I needed him to.” 

(the crumbling ruins of the parthenon have nothing on the crumbling ruins of her walls) 

“What happened?” 

“I had my dream, dancing with the hottest kid in SoCal at fucking  _ prom, _ he was my boyfriend and I—I still felt as broken as ever. I didn’t feel any more fixed.” 

She takes in a shuddering breath, her lungs rattling like the engines of a rocket ship do before it hurtles towards space. “I just didn’t want to have to fix myself. Putting myself back together was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. But it’s what my dad would have wanted me to do.” 

Devi taps her fingers against his knuckles. “That’s it,” she murmurs. “I was looking for something in Paxton I always had in myself.” 

“You’re the strongest person I know, Devi.” 

She looks up at him, in slight shock. He shrugs. “It’s true. You are the strongest person I know. Probably the bravest, too.” 

Her mouth twists into a small, slightly wry smile. “I’m not,” she says. “But I appreciate you saying that.” 

“You are,” he affirms. “You are.” 

Through the windshield of his car, she looks up at the sky, dotted with stars. Watching a falling star streak across it and makes a wish. 

“Can we stay here for a bit?”

“As long as you want.” 

(forever, she thinks. forever is what i want, and even that wouldn’t be enough) 

He doesn’t let go of her hand, she notes, and she wonders if this time, he will be the one to let her go. 

(he is) 

Devi falls asleep on the drive home, a mere twenty minutes, yet she’s completely exhausted from today, totally drained. She wants to curl up here for the rest of her life and just sleep, the scent of sandalwood surrounding her. That’s all she ever wants. 

She’s jolted awake by his hand on her shoulder. “Devi? We’re at your place.” 

She rubs her eyes and yawns, grappling for her purse and the door handle at the same time. “Oh, thanks, Ben,” she yawns again. 

Devi tries to blink herself away, brain still clouded with sleep, and struggles with opening the door handle. 

She nearly falls out the car door when it opens, right into his arms. “Fuck,” he groans. “You’re exhausted.” 

“Observant, Gross,” she murmurs. 

Ben guides her to her door, and steadily, she gets more and more awake, able to stand on her own two feet, and she digs in her purse for her keys as he steps back, shoving his hands in his pockets. 

Devi glances up at him as she unlocks her door. “Thank you for today,” she says. 

Ben offers her a grin. “It was fun, wasn’t it?” 

(it was one of the best days she can ever remember having) 

“Yeah.” She grins at him. “Even if I started crying at the end of everything.” 

Ben’s gaze darkens, and he reaches out, before pulling his hand back, as if remembering his place. 

(forget your place, she wants to scream) 

“Never apologize for that.” 

Recklessness, impulsivity, chaos. She thrives on it. It flows in her veins as much as blood does, and Ben ignites a combustion reaction in her systems that she cannot ignore. 

(perhaps that is why she does what she does. she tugs him in and kisses him, kisses him hard and fast, like a spaceship, at liftoff, punching through the sky. but ben kisses her back slowly, gently, freezing time around them, the drag of gravity that pulls her back to earth. forces versus inertia. she wants to kindle the flames and stroke them, higher and higher, add accelerants and gasoline and catalysts. she wants liftoff, to hurtle through the sky, but ben kisses her as through they are drifting lazily through space, as through they are a satellite peacefully orbiting the earth, instead of a rocket, tearing through the cosmos) 

She pulls back then, overwhelmed and overwrought, stumbling back from him. His hands fall from her hips, and it sends a shock of ice through her. 

Looking right into his eyes, she can feel him, suddenly, in every single cell, from the very tips of her fingers to her toes, down the line of her back. 

(is this another precipice, another malibu?) 

It can’t be. No one would be stupid enough to give her their heart, least of all Ben, after what she did to him. After everything she broke between them. 

So she shoots him another smile, and twists open the door, refusing to let herself look at his face. 

Devi slumps against the door as soon as it shuts. She can be a little cliche, for once. 

(she is free falling with ben, and she wonders,  _ oh, she wonders, _ when she will reach terminal velocity) 

* * *

“6 plus 9 is...” she mutters to herself. 

“15.” 

“Thanks.” 

Ben glances over at her, brow furrowing as he looks at the sheet. “What is that?” 

“A tally of all the orgasms I’ve given you since the New Year,” she says casually, relishing in the choked off strangle she hears.

“What do you mean?” 

Devi looks over at him and arches her eyebrow. “Aww, don’t feel bad, Gross. I get it. I’m ahead in the tally. Learn to get used to it.”

“Uh, what the fuck?” he squeaks out.

Devi shrugs, grinning a bit evilly. “I told you I was good with my hands too,” she winks. 

“You—you’ve been keeping track?” 

She smirks. “Everything’s a competition with us, Gross. Don’t you know that by now? It’s not my fault you didn’t know it was a competition.” 

“What?” he says, voice still strangled. “We’re—competing?” 

“Yup. And currently—” she taps her pen against the paper, “I’ve got two up on you.” 

“You haven’t like—titled that, have you?” 

She glares at him. “Of course not. It’s just a calendar with tally marks. The day after Valentine’s put me over the top,” she says, winking, enjoying when his face explodes into a pink blush. 

Ben scowls at her. “You don’t have to be so cocky about it.” 

She bursts out laughing. “Oh, coming from you?? That’s rich. Don’t worry, Ben. Just get used to life in second place.” 

Ben’s eyes darken. “Why are you being so mean?” 

In the back of her mind, some primal, basic part of her stirs awake, is aware they are throwing fuel onto the fire, but the larger part of her consciousness is more focused on mocking him. 

“I mean, seriously, Ben, it’s not a big deal, you know, you’ve just got to come to terms with the fact that I’m better th—“

The rest of her sentence is muffled, cut off when his lips press against hers. 

He kisses her hard and desperate. Ben’s lips against hers are hot and she can’t help but moan against his mouth, her head spinning at how easily his tongue sweeps into her mouth and tangles with her own. Ben knows how to kiss her and make her crave him, knows how to kiss her and send her spiralling, and he’s never used it quite as much as now. 

Devi reaches a hand up and curls it around his jaw, kissing him hard and losing herself in him, She can never quite stop kissing Ben, not really. She’s absolutely terrible at pulling away and catching her breath and always waits until the last possible moment to do so, just before she thinks she’ll pass out. 

She’s so absorbed in kissing him she doesn’t notice when he pushes her back on the floor, until the carpet is pressing against shoulder blades and his body is pressed against the length of hers, hands roaming and slipping under her shirt. 

He pulls her shirt off and slips it over her head, barely taking a moment to breathe before he dives back in to kiss her, and he seems to have one goal in mind: to overwhelm her as much as possible. 

When he finally stops kissing her he scatters kisses like stars all over her body, over her bra and under her breasts, dropping them as soft as flower petals, lips brushing against her skin. It’s a stark constant to the hot, determined way his hands map out her body, carving trails of fire into her skin, and then his hands move further down. 

She gasps when he unbuttons her jeans and pulls them off, tossing them over his shoulder without breaking the litany of kisses he drops over her skin. “What—what are you doing?”

“I’m getting a little tired of you being in front of me,” he murmurs, into her skin. He bites the skin of her hip, lightly, while pulling off her underwear, dragging it gently down her legs. “So, I’m going to change that.”

“How?” 

He sinks his teeth into the skin of her thigh and she bucks against him, a moan wrenching itself from her throat without her consent. 

“I’m going to make you come until you can’t anymore.” 

Whatever rebuttal to whatever thing she thought he might have said dries up in her throat instantly, and her skin hums with anticipation, desperation. 

“Ben, I don’t—I don’t—“ 

“Don’t what, Devi?” he murmurs, dragging his fingers down the length of her leg and sending her mind spinning. “Don’t want me to make you come? Don’t want me to go down on you? Do you really not want that?” 

She can’t say she doesn’t because she does, so badly she’s scared she might die from it. Devi thought she would have gotten used to the way Ben overpowers every single one of her senses completely, the way he makes her ache for him like nothing else, but she’s still not. 

“I do,” she admits, biting back a gasp when his fingers skim the inside of her thigh. “I want it.”

“Good,” he says, “This is how it’s going to go. I’m going to make you come on my mouth, and you’re going to take it. As many times as I want. When it really goes beyond what you can handle, you tell me, but not a second before. Not one second before. You will not be quiet. I want to hear what I’m doing to you. I want you to remember.” 

Devi moans, eyes squeezing shut as she wants to pass out. “I—I don’t know if I can.”

“You can, Devi.” 

She can’t say anything else because then he dips his head down and flicks his tongue up into her. 

Her hands fly down and bury themselves in his hair, tugging at them harder than is probably good for him, but she can’t. She feels like she’s melting, her body turning into molten lava. 

Ben’s hands slip around her thighs and shrug them over his shoulders as he traces his tongue around her and god, her skin feels both like it’s going to peel off and like it’s far far too tight. 

“Ben,” she chokes, “Ben, oh my god.”

She can’t—can’t breathe. She digs her hands into his hair even harder and tugs, dragging him closer as if that would change anything. 

Her first orgasm comes quickly, crashing over her like a wave, and she wants to pass out when he drags his teeth over her clit, lightly, and she combusts underneath his hands and mouth. 

She comes so hard it steals the breath out of her lungs, her back violently arching up off the floor, nails scraping against his scalp. White spots dance in front of her eyes as she squeezes her eyes shut so tight. It’s dizzying, intense, all her systems crashing as she shakes around him.

“Ben!” she cries, unable to hold it back any longer. “Oh god, Ben.” 

He hums against her as she comes down from her high, heel scraping against the muscles of his back, and she blinks, trying to get her bearings. 

Then she feels his tongue swirl around her and she moans, digging her hands into his hair impossibly harder. “Ben—Ben what are you—“ 

She didn’t think he was—was serious about making her come until she couldn’t anymore, but he doesn’t slow down at all, pushing her towards another high. 

He’s shameless in the way he makes her fall apart, and after months and months of sleeping together he knows exactly how to shatter her, to make her fracture apart into pieces and then to pick those pieces up. 

Then his tongue moves into her and she gasps, overwhelmed, so overwhelmed that she thinks she might faint. Her thighs shake around his ears, and the worst part isn’t even his mouth, it’s his hands. 

He’s pinning her into the floor, palms splayed out on her stomach as his fingers wrap around her back and it’s—so much she wants to die. When he pulls his tongue out of her she barely swallows a scream, and from the way he frowns she can tell he’s not pleased, but he lets it go. 

“Oh, fuck, oh my god,” she says, and she’s well aware she sounds like—like a broken record, but she can’t bite the words back, not now, not when it feels like her soul is melting out from behind her ribcage. His hands, his fucking hands. 

He then shifts his hand slightly so that his thumb can press against her clit and she’s shattering all over again, her orgasm even more intense than the last one. She tugs on his hair so hard  _ her _ fingers hurt, and she worries about hurting him for a split second, before the rest of the orgasm catches up to her and she crumbles to pieces. 

“God,” she sobs. “Dear god, Ben.” Her thighs shake, locked around his head, and she blinks her eyes open, trying to chase away tears that blur her vision. 

“Ben,” she chokes out, “I don’t—how many more?” 

He raises his head and looks at her, and without missing even half a beat he slips two fingers into her easily, rubbing at the ridges inside of her. “As many as I want, Devi,” he says. “I can go for as long as I want. It all depends on how much you can handle.”

She doesn’t feel like she can handle any more, but the truth is that she can and Ben knows it. She knows he knows it because he knows her. 

He thrusts his fingers in and out of her easily, speeding up and slowing down at random intervals and speeding up at others, driving her insane. 

“Fuck, you have to—” she gasps. “You have to do—do  _ something.” _

“I don’t have to do anything, Devi.” 

She groans, chest heaving, burning with the need to breathe. Sucking in lungfuls of air does—does nothing because every time he moves his hand, he punches the air out of her lungs. 

“Go—go harder.” 

“Maybe you should ask nicely,” he smirks, lips ghosting against her as he twists his wrist.

Devi lets out a laugh—or maybe it’s a sob, she can’t tell the difference, scraping her nails against his scalp. “In—in your dreams, Gross.” 

“You’re mean.” 

“Just fucking  _ do it,” _ she commands. 

Her walls flutter around him and she can feel herself tipping over the edge, getting closer and closer, and god, she doesn’t know how intense this orgasm will be until it comes. 

And when it does, she snaps. 

“I—oh, fuck, fuck, fuck,” she cries. “Oh my  _ god.” _

She’s completely unable to hold back her reactions now, and moans his name loud and long into the air as he watches her fall apart on his fingers, with his hands. 

“B-Ben,” she breathes, dragging her nails across his scalp. “I—you—oh my god. You—I need—“ 

“What do you need, Devi?” 

“I—I need you.” 

The smirk on his face says it all, and fuck, she would smack and slap him if she was capable of thinking at all. 

Ben’s tongue flicks over her clit, soft, languid licks that build her up slowly and without difficulty. The sharper edge to the pleasure bleeds away and into her skin, permeating warmth that she can’t help but melt into. This isn’t quite as intense as the first few, a slow build that she feels in every single cell in her body. 

It’s like he lit her soul on fire and he’s letting the embers make their way through her system, igniting every inch of her skin along the way.

She gasps when he picks up the speed suddenly, the pleasure intensifying and reaching a crescendo, a conclusion of Herculean proportions, and she trembles around him, so close she might pass out. 

And then he stops. Backs off and flicks his tongue against her softly and gently, keeping her teetering on the edge of oblivion. 

“Ben—oh, god, no,” she groans. “More.” 

He doesn’t make indication that he’s heard her, but the words still fall from her lips nonetheless. “I need you, please, I need you to make me come, Ben, come on. Please, Ben.” 

She doesn’t know quite what it is, perhaps that her mind has been reduced to nothing but him and his name and everything that he is, but he takes pity on her, flattening his tongue against her and firmly dragging it up, finally allowing her to tip over into blissfully oblivion again. 

“Finally,” she groans, letting the orgasm wash over her, giving herself to the bliss. 

The hot, aching pleasure is mixed with some sharp pain, and it only adds to the experience. It’s almost too much—although not quite yet—and she just wants more and more, wants him to tear her to pieces and stitch her back together with his hands and his mouth. 

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, against her thigh. 

Devi would blush and feel embarrassed if she could process anything, but her brain has totally shut down, completely broken. 

She can’t breathe, and she needs to remember to take air in, her lungs burning. She’s so wrapped up in him that she barely remembers to process her thoughts. 

He drags his fingers down her folds, following it with his tongue and then back up, pressing his fingers against her clit. She chokes, and fuck, it‘s heavenly and hellish at the same time. 

The pleasure is so intense it hurts, and when his tongue enters her and rubs against a specific spot inside of her she nearly blacks the fuck out. She can’t tug on his hair any harder, it’s not physically possible, but she tries anyways, sure she’s hurting him beyond belief, but she can’t think about anything else. 

“Harder,” she says, but she doesn’t know how it’s possible for him to go harder. “More—more, I need—” 

“Keep talking.” He pulls away for a moment and she protests, but when his teeth nip at her thigh, she focuses back on him. “Keep talking.” 

“So good,” she chokes out. “So fucking good. I’m—so close, Ben. Almost there, I’m—almost there.” 

“Has anyone else ever made you come so many times?” he growls, hand digging into her hip. “Has anyone else seen you like this?” 

“Like—like what?”

“Desperate for it.” 

“No—no one else,” she rasps, voice hoarse. “Just—just you.” 

“Are you lying?”

“N—never,” she promises, eyes flying open when he nips at her folds. They slide shut a moment later, blissfully, and Devi tries to answer his question as best as she can. “Only you, Ben. Just you.” 

Ben’s hand dips down and runs over her leg just as he grazes his teeth against her clit and it’s too much for her, at the mercy of his teeth and lips and tongue and hands, and she explodes. 

_ “Ben!” _

Black floods her vision as she comes, and for a second nothing else is real. She’s flying and falling and drowning all at the same time, nothing else real but the sweat on her skin and his hand on her hip, and then everything falls silent. 

(she knows ben could wreck her, the kind of utter devastation and destruction that takes centuries to recover from, the kind of destruction that still leaves scars on the world millennia later. he razes her body and leaves her to pick up the pieces, and he’s utterly unaware of it extent he’s ruined her to the whole time)

When she finally blinks her eyes open again she scrapes her nails against his scalp,  _ hard, _ so he’ll pay attention to her. “No—no more,” she breathes. She’s afraid it’ll start hurting even more if she does, and she actually can’t. 

He sees the truth swimming in her eyes and backs off, dragging his finger over her hip lightly, so lightly it’s barely there, but even that is almost too much sensation. “Ben,” she gasps, tugging on his hair, and because he always knows what that means, he finally comes back up, gently pressing his lips to her neck. 

She pants, opening her eyes to look at him. “Oh my god,” she breathes. “That was—“ 

“Amazing?” he finishes, cocking an eyebrow. 

“No. Well, yes, but I was trying to say it was intense.” 

He smirks. “Five more for me.” 

Devi glares at him. “Seriously?” 

He shakes his head. “Well, that and you’re beautiful when you come.” His gaze softens, and he reaches out, gently pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I love watching you.” 

Their eyes lock and every time she looks into his blue eyes, she falls in love with them all over again, finding different shades of blue every time. He holds shades of blue she’s never seen before in his eyes, light and dark and azure, stunning. 

Devi reaches out and cups his jaw. “Really?” 

He nods. “Yeah. You’re beautiful. You’re always beautiful, but especially—“ he drops his gaze to the floor. “I’m objectifying you, aren’t I?” 

Devi presses her fingers to his chin and tilts it up so he’s looking at her. Carefully, slowly, she leans in and kisses him gently on the lips. “Thank you.” 

Ben smiles. “Of course.” 

She sighs, limbs settling into the floor. There’s no way she can move right now, far too exhausted to even think about doing so, so she lets herself relax and turns her face towards him again, smirking. 

“Don’t worry, though. You’re not going to be ahead for long.”

* * *

He’s sitting in his bed, dressed in boxers and reading a book, when she crawls over him to grab something. 

Ben looks up from his book and smirks. “What, still haven’t had enough of me?” 

Devi doesn’t miss a beat, hitting him lightly on the back of his head as she settles back against his pillows. “I’m bored,” she says, opening his laptop and sliding it over to him. “I wanna watch something.” 

Ben rolls his eyes as he sets down his book and puts his password in, sliding the laptop back over to her. “I don’t want to hear  _ Riverdale _ while I’m reading my book.” 

She glances over at him, smirking at the cover of his book.  _ “The Butchering Art? _ Ben, what the fuck?” 

He frowns at her. “It’s a really interesting book! It’s all about the development of Victorian medicine. I think you would like it.” 

She raises an eyebrow. “Seriously?” 

“Yes, seriously, David.”

Devi laughs at him. “I’m not watching  _ Riverdale, _ ok? I’m gonna watch  _ The Good Place.” _

“Really?” He immediately tucks his bookmark back in the book and sets it on his dresser. “Finally, some taste. Which episode?” 

“I was thinking ‘The Trolley Problem’,” she says, clicking on the episode. 

He shifts closer to her and peers at the screen, and she pushes the laptop over so it’s sitting in on their laps, half and half. “I like that episode. Postulates some good ideas.” 

“Well, obviously. Which way do you go?” she asks. 

“Pull the lever, duh.” 

“Well, what if you know the person?” 

Ben frowns. “Well, still. It’s five lives versus one life. The math checks out.” 

“It depends, though,” she argues. “What if that one person was a baby and the other five lives were really old people, who were on their deathbeds? What if they were really sick, and didn’t want to live?” 

“It’s still one life versus five, Devi. You can’t tell me that you would feel a lot guiltier about killing five people than one.” 

“But, you actively  _ choose _ to kill that one person.” 

“A non-choice is still a choice.” 

Devi crosses her arms, frowning at him. “Yeah, but most people would choose to kill five complete strangers rather than one person they know.” 

Ben snorts. “Of course they would. That’s human nature. We’re emotionally tied to the people we know in our lives.” 

“So if I was the one person, you would still pull the lever?” 

He knows she’s asking the question to throw him off, but he doesn’t waver, still looking at the screen. “Of course not.” 

Devi jolts, as if she’s shocked. “Really?” 

“Why are you surprised? If I was the other person, would you pull the lever?” He holds his hand up, snickering. “Don’t worry, I know the answer. You’d love to get rid of the competition for valedictorian, wouldn’t you?” 

“That would imply you were competition in the first place, Gross,” she says, smiling. “But you’re such a utilitarian. You wouldn’t pull the lever?” 

He sighs. “No. But, then again, who in my life would I pull the lever for and who wouldn’t I? It’s an ethical quandary if there ever was one.” 

Devi nods. “I mean, I tend to err on the side of utilitarianism too, so I get you.” 

Ben smirks. “What about the organ version of the problem?” 

Devi watches Michael, Eleanor, and Chidi scream as her brows furrow, not taking her eyes off from the screen. “What?” 

“You know, the version of the problem where it’s like, “you can save the lives of five people with the organs of one healthy, living person without any sort of discovery for your actions whatsoever.” What would you do?” 

“Fuck,” she swears. “That’s a heavy one.” 

“I know. That’s why I asked you it.” 

She lays her head on his shoulder, hair tickling his back. “What would you do?” she murmurs. 

“Hippocratic oath, right? I couldn’t dictate the worth of someone else’s life.” 

“True.” 

“Of course, if I was the patient and I knew I could save people with my organs, I would ask them to take it.” 

She looks at him, lips quirking up in a smile. “Self-sacrificing douchebag,” she mutters, running her hand through his hair.

“Can you be self-sacrificing and a douchebag?” he banters back. “I don’t think so, right?” 

“You’d find a way to make it work,” she snorts. “Up there at your funeral playing a slideshow narrated by you of the greatest moments of your life.” 

“As long as the background music is “I’m Too Sexy,” I don’t really care about anything else.” 

She laughs. “I would pay good money to see that.” 

He presses his cheek against the top of her head as the episode continues to play, smiling softly. “Well, what about you?” 

“What about me?” 

“Which would you choose?” 

“Well, history shows things go very bad very quickly once we start dictating the worth of someone else’s life,” she murmurs. Her fingers circle his palm, over and over against, tracing the lines of it soothingly. He ignores how it makes his heart pound, ignores her. 

(he has never really been able to ignore her. trolley problem, organ problem, no matter the moral quandary, he would choose her. over everything else, he would choose her)

“That is very, very true,” he says, trying very hard not to get distracted by the way her fingers are tracing circles on his hand. It’s becoming more frequent, finding himself wrapped up in her embrace as they watch something. He doesn’t even know if she’s aware she’s doing it, it comes so naturally to her, but he is. He is very, very aware of it. 

“I agree with you, though. If I was the one patient and knew, I would give myself up to save the lives of five other people.” 

“We’re both self-sacrificing assholes, huh?” 

"Speak for yourself, Gross. I think I’m significantly less asshole-ish than you.” 

“Excuse me, the other day you literally stole my phone and changed the name of every single one of my contacts to the names of the Kardashians followed by the species name for a species of—what was it?” 

“Coral,” she smirks. “I’m pretty proud of that, to be honest.” 

“You’re plenty of an asshole.” 

She pulls away from him and bats her lashes dramatically. “Only for you, Ben,” she breathes, voice high and breathy, cloyingly sweet. “Don’t you just feel  _ so _ special?”

“I’m the luckiest guy in the world,” he deadpans. 

She laughs. “Ridiculous.” 

“Just watch the episode, David.” 

Devi grumbles and leans back, and he tries not to sneeze when her hair tickles his nose. They watch the rest of the episode in relative peace and quiet, letting it play to the next one.

(his fingers dragging up and down her arm, back pressed against his chest, head tucked into the side of his neck and hand wrapped around his waist. he wonders if she notices how tangled up in him she is, if she notices how their bodies fit together like puzzle pieces, and doesn’t care, or if she simply doesn’t notice it. he doesn’t know which one he wants it to be)

“Ben,” she murmurs, after about an hour, “what time is it?” 

He glances over at his phone. “5:38.” 

“Ok,” she sighs. “I gotta go. I have some work to get done.” 

He frowns. “Seriously?” 

“Obviously, Gross.” She tosses her hair over her shoulder and grins. “Valedictorian hasn’t been chosen yet, and remember, we said we wouldn’t stop trying to beat one another in the contract.” 

He leans forward and scrapes his teeth down her neck. “You know I’m getting it, David. Why bother trying?” 

Devi hums as she tilts her head to the side, letting him suck marks down her neck. “Maybe it’s be—because it’s inevitable that I’m better than you,” she breathes, letting him push her back down on the bed and climb over her. 

“Really?” he says. He slips his hands around her waist and kisses her chest, the valley between her breasts. “In what way?” 

“Every way possible,” she says, tugging on his hair when he presses a kiss to her breast. “Ben,” she sighs. 

(fuck, that is the best way in which she says his name, not a shout, not a cry, but a breathless exhale. she says his name like he is her salvation, even if it is the other way around. he wants nothing more than to scatter more kisses across her body than there are stars in the universe) 

“Hmm?” he mumbles. 

“I—oh,” she whines, breaking off when he skims his hand up her thigh and digs his fingers into her hip, slightly. 

Ben presses kisses up and down her body, over every inch of skin he can reach. He kisses her like this alone can absolve him of sin, and there are times, like right now, laying in his bed with sunlight spilling over her body, that he thinks it might. One of her hands curl into the bedsheets while the other wraps around his shoulder, thumb stroking his neck, and he relishes in the way her grip on him tightens the further he moves down her body. “Ben,” she breathes, again. 

“Yeah, Devi?” 

“We have to stop.” 

“Do you really want me to?” he whispers, dragging his lips across her stomach gently. 

“I have a date.” 

It’s like a bucket of cold water has been dumped on him, and he jerks away from her as if he’s been burned. 

(once burned, twice shy. isn’t that the saying? so why isn’t he twice shy when it comes to her?) 

“What?” he stammers. 

She doesn’t look at him as she slides off the bed, rooting around for her clothes. “I have a date for Friday, after school,” she repeats, quieter. 

Her hands shake slightly as she hooks her bra on, and she tugs her dress on over her head, turning around and looking at him for a split second, before her gaze drops to the floor once more. “He asked me out and I said yes.” 

(it should be a comfort, he thinks, that she did not go actively looking for someone else, that someone else approached her, and yet, it’s not. he thinks it hurts even more, because she did not reject  _ them, _ she rejected  _ him. _ she’s done it before, and he wonders, he wonders, why he is surprised. it shouldn’t hurt as much, this time around. it is usual, for devi to choose other people over him, and suddenly, the trolley problem hurts so much more in an entirely different way) 

“Oh,” he says, hoping his voice does not sound too wrecked. He feels like he is a ship at sea, smashing against the rocks and splintering into pieces of driftwood that float, helplessly, at the mercy of the waves. 

He needs her to leave, because the more she speaks, the more cracks appear in the dam around his heart, and the pressure is building up, building up. He does not think he can hold it back much longer. It is not in the nature of the tide to be pushed back. 

Ben clears his throat and, to give him something to do, pushes himself out of bed as well, getting dressed. He decidedly ignores her as he pulls on his shirt, ignoring how the fabric pulls painfully at the scratches on his back. 

(halfway here, she is, with him) 

“So,” he smirks, trying—and failing—to appear unbothered, “who’s the lucky person?” 

She shrugs. “Some guy. I’ve seen him before at the library. We’ve talked. He asked me out for dinner Friday night.” 

Ben shoves his hands in his pockets so she can’t see how they tremble. 

(he has always been the better one at hiding his feelings) 

“Friday night?” 

He glances over at his phone. It’s futile, he knows, but he tries anyway. “You know, the contract does stipulate that we don’t have to stop sleeping together just cause you’re going on a date.” 

“I know what the contract states,” she says. “I just. Think it would be good if we stopped now. A bit earlier.” 

“Right. Yeah, yeah, of course, Devi. Whatever you want.” 

(he’s never ever going to make it about what he wants, not when it comes to her) 

“Where is he taking you?” 

(he’s such a fucking masochist. he kind of hates himself for it)

She scrunches her nose up. “Why do you care?” 

(because he wants to be the one taking her out) 

“Isn’t that what friends do, David?” 

She purses her lips. “Fair enough. We’re going to that new Italian place on Central. What is it, Portabello’s?” 

He nods, shoving open the door with his shoulder, so she can follow him out. “Oh. Cool.” 

(he has never wanted her to leave before now)

Devi stops, her hand curling around the strap of her bag. “Ben,” she says gently. “We’re—we’re still friends, right? No matter what happens with this guy?” 

(no, he wants to scream. how  _ dare _ she ask if they can be friends? how can she do that to him? how can she hurt him like this? 

(he thought th—that maybe valentine’s had meant something, that maybe there was a spark between them, because at the time he had been—had been so sure there was something there, something between them—even if he had previously thought she could never fall for a guy like him, she had managed to become his friend so maybe, maybe real feelings were there? maybe there was a chance) 

but it’s not  _ her fault. _ it’s just his, because he was the idiot who got his hopes up and thought she could feel something for him, and part of him is a bit relieved this came sooner rather than later, because, well, he’s not in too deep yet. he can get over this. he did it once) 

“Yeah, David,” he says, with a performative smirk. “Of course we’re still friends.” 

She nods, tucking her hair behind her ears. “And—and this is just temporary,” she says, cracking a smile. “There’s like, an 85% chance I won’t end up going out with this guy again.” 

A hot flash of possessiveness strikes him in the gut then, so sharp he nearly bowls over from it, and he steps closer, eyes falling on her neck. He reaches out and drags his finger over the marks, feather light. “85? That high of a chance?” 

Devi’s eyes lock with his. “You—” 

He doesn’t let her finish, stepping forward and curling his hands around her waist before tugging her towards him, ducking his head to press his lips to the underside of her jaw. “Can I up the percentage any more?” he growls, dragging his teeth over her jaw. 

Her hands curl into his biceps and she curves against him, and some dark, dark part of him delights in it. 

(he might not be who her heart wants, but her body wants him, and he’s going to take advantage of that) 

“Ben,” she whimpers, fingers digging into his arm. 

“Temporary,” he breathes. “Ok then. Have fun without me touching you for a week.” 

He pulls away then, smirking at the way her legs shake. “If you can last that long.” 

She glares at him, but doesn’t give him a response, just flipping him off before slamming the door shut behind her. 

“Fuck,” he swears. Desperation to tug her back into his house roars up in him suddenly, like a tsunami wave from the sea. 

Ben runs a hand over his face as he drags himself over to the couch, flopping on it and turning on the TV, but it doesn’t do anything to distract himself from the fact that she’s not here.

(he wants her back he wants her back he wants her back here with him) 

“She’s not yours to have,” he reminds himself, out loud. “She’s not  _ anyone’s _ to have. It’s her choice who she wants to go out with. Stop being such a dick. You can’t make her choice for her.” 

(and she didn’t choose him) 

Whose fault is that? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> your comments and kudos make me happier than ben winning the science fair! come talk to me about the show! you can find me on tumblr: @[parkersedith](https://parkersedith.tumblr.com)


	11. act xi: how you gripped my hips so mean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _(devi would do well to remember the rules of electrochemistry—that voltage can only be produced until one of the compounds is consumed. she can sustain this only until one of them is destroyed, and she fears she has already done that to him. it is oxygen and fire all over again, she needs him and consumes him all at the same time. fire has never been able to sustain itself without destroying something else)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is brought to you by maggie and rose's new status as bandana bitches and cori's adorable new baby cat
> 
> hey guys! can't believe we're getting closer and closer to the end with each chapter, but i'm getting so excited to share it all with everyone. i have a lot of plans, and things are just going to get more intense from here on out. i have so many ideas that i'm excited to finally get out on paper, so i hope you enjoy
> 
> as always, thank you to leila for helping me with the science, even though she hates physics. i really appreciate it 
> 
> (chapter title from “strange love” by halsey)
> 
> ok, thank you guys!! enjoy!!!

Kamala likes to think that after extensive  _ Riverdale _ viewings, a lifetime supply of Bollywood movies, binge-reading every romantic novel out there, and well, being happily married to the man of her dreams, she knows a little something about love. 

There are times, occasionally, where she admits that she might not have been as thorough in her research collection as necessary. At the end of the day, Kamala is a scientist, a woman of logic and reasoning, and, maybe, perhaps there are certain data points in which she has been lacking. 

Data points, for example, that explain why her seventeen year old cousin looks angry enough to murder right now. 

Kamala winces as the front door slams behind Devi.

She glances over at Nalini, who doesn’t even blink. “What’s, um—”

“Your guess is as good as mine, kanna,” Nalini says, continuing to chop onions without blinking. “I never know what is going on with that girl anymore.” 

Kamala turns to Prashant, who’s dicing tomatoes, and presses a kiss to his cheek. “I’ll be back, love. I’m going to go check on her.” 

He gives her a smile, and not for the first time, Kamala feels her heart flutter in her chest at his lovely smile. Prashant is easy, in a way very few things in her life have ever been. 

(she is a beautiful woman—and no, she is not being full of herself, simply stating a fact here—she is a beautiful woman who has had to fight tooth and nail to be taken seriously. handsome men are brilliant, but beautiful women are vapid, and kamala hates the viscous disgust that coils up in her whenever a white guy leers at her just a bit too long)

But Prashant is easy. He is late night sofa blankets and throw pillows and crystal beavers, and she loves him so much her heart feels like it will burst from affection. 

“Of course,” he says easily. He turns to Nalini and shoots her a wink. “Nalini Aunty and I will have a lot more fun without you.” 

Kamala’s mouth drops open in surprise and she smacks him lightly on the arm, before walking away, relishing in the laughter her family lets out behind her. 

She knocks, gently, on the door to Devi’s room. “Devi?” 

A muffled groan emits from the room, which Kamala takes as permission to walk in. She pushes open the door to find Devi laying face first on her bed, dressed in loose pajamas and a hoodie Kamala doesn’t recognize. 

“What?” Devi groans, not even lifting her head up from the bed. 

Kamala has to resist the urge to laugh. Devi always complains about how over-dramatic teenagers on TV are, but right now, she’s acting as bad as all of them. 

She perches on the edge of Devi’s bed and gently strokes her hair. “Hey, Devi. Care to tell me why you blew in here like a tornado?” 

Devi just groans louder, burying her face further into the blankets. “Not really.” 

She laughs. “Fair enough. I only ask because I’m not sure you want your mother or Prashant coming up here.” 

“Prashant would be cool,” Devi mumbles. She shifts, sitting upright on the bed, and Kamala lets her hand fall back down as Devi brushes her hair away from her face. “I could look at his hot face while he pretended to know anything about being a high school girl.” 

“That’s my husband you’re talking about, Devi.” 

She snorts. “Yeah, and he’s a legit snack. You can’t deny that.” 

Kamala presses her lips together to stave off a set of giggles, but they slip through. “He is pretty hot,” she admits. 

For the first time since Devi entered the house, she smiles. “You guys are like, the perfect couple. How do you do it?” 

Kamala blinks, a bit shocked. “What? What makes you think Prashant and I are the perfect couple?” 

Devi gives her a withering look, one of many of Devi’s facial expressions that Kamala finds are just so entertaining. “Maybe because you guys are like, the most perfect people I have ever known, and together, you would be even more perfect?” 

Kamala reaches out and laces her fingers with Devi’s. “Devi, what makes you think I’m perfect?” 

Devi sighs heavily. “Kamala, like, look at you. You’re gorgeous and smart and you went to Caltech and you’re doing all this really cool research and you’re married to the man of your dreams, who adores you, and my mom loves you and—” 

“Devi,” Kamala says, cutting her off. “You know I’m not  _ just _ those things, though, right?” 

(the thing is, kamala at twenty-five is very different from kamala at seventeen, and devi doesn’t remember kamala at seventeen, but kamala does. kamala at seventeen was awkward and gangly and didn’t know how to style her hair, talked too much about science and wouldn’t know nail polish from shoe polish. kamala at seventeen didn’t like talking to boys and preferred to dream about herself in a clinical lab over life as a wife and mother) 

She reaches out and brushes back a strand of hair on Devi’s forehead, tucking it behind her ear, gently. “I might be all of those things,” she says, flashing a conspiratorial grin at Devi. “But I’m a lot more as well.” 

Devi laughs wryly. “Humble, aren’t you?” 

“I’m a lot more as well, Devi,” Kamala insists. “I’m a bit cowardly and I take too long to make the right decision, I think things through a little  _ too _ much sometimes and I can be really, horribly, insanely selfish. I drive Prashant up the wall because my stuff is always scattered all over our bathroom and I’m the absolute  _ worst _ at standing up for myself. I always let people walk all over me.” 

Devi frowns. “You stopped doing that, though.” 

Kamala nods. “Do you know why I did?” 

“No.” 

“Because of  _ you, _ Devi. You didn’t let anyone tell you what you could and couldn’t do. You didn’t let people walk over you.” Kamala reaches over and pulls Devi into her, relishing in the way Devi smells, comforting, like jasmine. 

(jasmine used to remind her of india, of home, but now jasmine reminds her of devi, who is more home than india has ever been)

“You inspired me to stand up for myself and to go after what I want. You inspired me to tell my parents that Prashant and I were waiting to have kids because we wanted to focus on our careers. You inspired me to define myself by who  _ I _ am, not in relation to anyone else.” 

“I did?” 

Kamala smiles. “You did.” 

“Still,” Devi sighs. “That doesn’t explain how you and Prashant are the perfect couple.” 

“We’re not,” Kamala says. “The both of us are a little too accommodating at times. We both don’t want to face issues and we want to please our families a lot. We kind of suck at going after what we want, and then we take our issues out on the other. But do you know why you think we’re the perfect couple?” 

Devi shrugs, mutely picking at her bedspread. 

“Because at the end of the day I know that I love him and that I can talk to him,” Kamala murmurs. “That’s what you need. Honesty and communication. That’s the most important thing in a relationship.” 

“Right,” Devi says. “Why are you telling me this?” 

“Because I don’t want you to get the wrong impression. Relationships aren’t easy, a lot of the time. Prashant and I take a lot of work. But loving him is easy for me to do.” 

“Oh.” Devi clutches her pillow closer to her chest. “That’s nice.” 

She runs a hand up and down Devi’s back. “Hey,” Kamala presses, again. “What’s going on?” 

Devi chews her lip, and, for a moment, Kamala thinks she might tell her what’s going on, but then Nalini calls them for dinner and Devi’s mouth snaps shut. 

Her cousin gives her a shaky smile, slightly wobbly, and Kamala can’t help how it lances at her heart, a bit painful. She wants to help Devi, so badly. 

(kamala is a scientist. she deals in facts and figures and finds comfort in well-researched theses. she likes vials and microscopes and analyzing data, she likes breaking things down until they are so small she can understand them. what she likes the most, however, is studying things, taking them apart so that she can see how they work. but you cannot treat people like they are data sets, you cannot approach human emotions in the same way you try to figure out how how viruses work. people are far more complex than anything else science can dream up) 

“It’s ok, Kamala,” Devi assures her, albeit poorly. “I just—need a little bit of time.” 

She hates that, wishes she could figure out what is bothering her today, because at the end of the day, Kamala fixes things. She studies science to learn how to fix things. 

(she decided this, when she was all of sixteen and nervously clutching a chemistry textbook, pouring over combustion reactions and stoichiometry. she decided that she would be a scientist, and that all scientists, at their heart of hearts, are fixers, are helpers. you cannot love science without loving people, without wanting to help them) 

But she cannot force Devi to come to her. She has to wait for Devi to split herself open. 

So Kamala hugs her tight. “I’ll be waiting whenever you want to talk,” she says, quietly. 

* * *

Devi comes to her on Tuesday night. 

There are things to Devi that Kamala knows, even if Kamala does not think she does. There are parts of her that she has learned, in the way you can only learn about someone after you have seen them cry and laugh and after you have held them in your arms and watched them break down. 

(devi does not remember this, of course she does not, but one of kamala’s most precious memories is when she visited aunty and uncle in california and they settled a little bundle in her arms, a little, squalling baby, and introduced her. she loves her, loves devi like a sister, and so she waits, like a sister does) 

She is sitting on the couch, underneath the blanket Prashant bought for them, waiting for him to return from the store so they can go back to their apartment, when Devi walks in.

“Hey.” 

Kamala glances over from the episode of  _ Riverdale _ she is watching and sees Devi, dressed in pajama pants and a t-shirt, arms wrapped around herself. 

“Devi,” Kamala breathes. She pauses the episode and lifts up the edge of the blanket. 

Devi crawls under it and rests her head on Kamala’s shoulder. “Put it back on,” she murmurs. 

“Don’t you hate this show?” 

“Yeah, but I love making fun of it.” 

Kamala laughs. “Ok then. I guess I can put up with it.” 

They watch about half the episode, with Devi’s running commentary and occasionally stealing out of  _ Kamala’s _ popcorn bowl, thank you very much, before Devi finally says something meaningful. 

“I need you to cover for me on Friday night.” 

Kamala glances over and raises an eyebrow. “Why?” 

Devi burrows herself further into the blanket. “Cause I do.” 

Kamala frowns, and then reaches for the pillow, smacking Devi lightly on the head with it. 

“Ow, Kamala! What the hell?” 

“I’m not lying to your mom without a good reason.” She chucks the pillow to the other side of the couch and crosses her arms, arching her eyebrow. “What’s going on?” 

Devi scowls at her. “You don’t trust me?” 

“No.” 

“Wow, you’re just so nice, aren’t you? I really feel appreciated in this house tonight.” 

“Devi,” she laughs. “I’m not lying to your mom for you. The last time that happened, you fell into a pool and got driven home by the guy who then became your boyfriend for two years. You get up to unpredictable stuff.” 

“Fine,” Devi groans. She stubbornly stares at the screen, and Kamala tries to keep her lips from twitching as she waits for Devi to answer, looking at her in profile. Devi grits her teeth, and practically spits out, “I have a date.” 

Well. That was  _ not _ what Kamala was expecting, at all. “Oh,” she says, blinking a bit. “You have a date.” 

Devi’s head snaps over to her. “What did I just say?” 

Kamala raises her hands up in a surrender gesture. “Hey, don’t shoot me. I’m just a bit shocked.” 

“Thanks,” Devi drawls. 

“Not like that, Devi, and you know it. I’m just saying I didn’t think you would be into dating.” 

Devi shrugs noncommittally. “I am. Still have a few months before I leave for college. Six, in fact. Plenty of time to have a nice fling with someone.” 

Kamala furrows her brows. “But you and Ben don’t seem like the type to have a fling.” 

Devi chokes on the fistful of popcorn she just shoved into her mouth. “What?” she splutters, kernels flying everywhere. 

She doesn’t get what she’s said wrong, really. “You and Ben. Just don’t seem like the type to have a fling. With each other, at least.” 

“Why—why would you say that?” Devi chokes out. 

Kamala’s brows knit together. “Because you said six months was enough time to have a fling? Although that seems a bit long for just a fling, honestly.” 

“Yeah, with the guy who asked me out!” Devi yells. “Not Ben!” 

“Wait, wait,” Kamala says, holding up a hand. Her mind is  _ spinning. _ “You’re not going on the date with Ben?” 

Devi’s eyes bug out of her head. “What the fuck?” she nearly screams, only managing to tone down her volume at the very last second. “Why would you think that?” 

Kamala shrugs her shoulders. “I’m not  _ blind. _ I see the way you look at that boy. Plus, you guys have been attached at the hip this whole year. Whenever you’re not with us or with your friends, you’re with him. It makes sense he finally asked you out. Or you asked him out. Whichever way it worked. Or didn’t, I guess.” 

Devi just stares at her, blinking, slowly. “How do I look at him?” 

“Like he makes you happy.” 

“Oh.” 

Devi turns her attention back to the TV screen. “We  _ are _ friends. That’s it.” 

Kamala snorts. “Ok then.” 

“That’s it! Plus, I’m going on a date with this guy. Would I do that if I had feelings for Ben?” 

“Yes.” 

“I’m getting really tired with you responding like this,” Devi says. “Can you just give me a straight answer? What are you beating around the bush for?” 

Kamala frowns. “You want to know what I think?” 

Devi nods. “I want honesty.” 

“Fine.” Kamala sits up straight on the couch and pulls her legs in, sitting cross-legged. “I think that you’re going on this date to distract yourself from the fact that you have feelings for Ben because you’re too scared to handle what the reality of that means.” 

Devi blinks at her. Once. Twice. 

(she worries she’s pushed too hard. devi is like, like a baby bird. she cannot be pushed out of the nest without careful consideration and time. she cannot be sent careening over the edge without some wind beneath her wings. and this is, it’s hard for devi to face. 

(kamala doesn’t know, doesn’t ever really  _ think _ she knows what happened at malibu, or at least, what happened  _ after, _ what happened to devi. all she knows is that her cousin—no, her  _ sister _ —came running down the steps crying, said goodbye to her father, and then saw that boy. that boy that kamala thinks devi feels a lot more for than she’ll ever really tell anyone) 

kamala is older, and, well, a little wiser, when it comes to matters of the heart, and she wants to reach out and help devi through this, help her figure out what is going on, that her feelings are not something to run away from, that they are bold and beautiful and to be embraced—but she’s scared devi will run if she does) 

“I don’t have feelings for Ben.” 

Kamala bites back the retort that springs to her tongue instantly and tilts her head instead, asking Devi a question she’s genuinely been wanting to know the answer to. “Is there a reason why you think you do not?” 

The question catches Devi a bit off guard, and her eyes open wide, mouth dropping open. “W—what?” 

“I said, is there a reason you don’t think you have feelings for Ben?” 

Devi splutters, at a loss for words. “Be—because of what I  _ feel? _ I don’t—don’t—” 

“What do you feel?” 

_ “What?” _ Devi shrieks. “Kamala, where the hell is this going?” 

“I’m just trying to parse this out, Devi,” Kamala points out, brushing back an errant lock of hair. “Because as far as I’m concerned, you just accepted a date with a random guy instead of the guy you’ve been somewhat hung up on since sophomore year, and who is also currently one of your best friends.” 

“I am not hung up on Ben,” Devi insists, her face increasingly red.

“Really? What about sophomore year? What happened in Malibu?”

As predicted, Devi clenches her jaw and curls her hands into fists. “I don’t want to talk about that.” 

(why not? kamala wants to beg. there is something impossibly freeing, impossibly liberating, about splitting yourself open, about facing feelings you never thought you were brave enough to look at. it is scary, of course it is, but there is nothing in life that is worth having without a little bit of fear. without risk, there would be no reason to truly love something)

She knows, she thinks, what happened, in the barest sense of the word. She knows they kissed, and she knows it unlocked something in Devi, something that she’s struggled to lock back up. But there is something there, something on both of their sides, that Kamala does not know, and she does not think she ever will. 

“Devi. Why?” 

Devi crosses her arms and looks away from Kamala. “I don’t know what you’re trying to say.” 

Kamala sighs, giving up on that line of questioning. “I’m saying, frankly, to me, the fact that you keep insisting you  _ don’t _ have feelings for Ben is more confusing than if you  _ did _ have feelings for him.” 

“What?” Devi’s brows knit together. “Why?” 

“Because he’s your friend,” she answers, simply. “He makes you laugh, and you like spending time with him. You  _ do _ spend all your time with him. You’ve all the ingredients for a solid relationship right there. The only problem is you won’t  _ talk _ to him about it.” 

“There’s nothing to talk about.” 

“I think there is,” Kamala murmurs. 

But she knows how to pick her battles, so she drops it. “But, fine. You know your feelings, I guess. So, tell me, are you excited for Friday?” 

“You’re going to cover for me? Really?” 

Kamala shrugs, reaching over to brush a curl off Devi’s shoulder. “For some reason, yeah, I am. I guess I want to see where this is going to go.” 

Devi’s mouth curls into a bitter, humourless smile. “We’re not some iconic love story, Kamala. He’s just this guy I’ve seen before at the library and he asked me out.” 

Kamala wants to tell Devi she already  _ has _ her iconic love story, but she refrains. “You don’t sound incredibly excited,” she chooses to say, instead. 

Devi wrinkles her nose. “I mean, I highly doubt it’ll go beyond a few dates. I don’t think it’ll go beyond this one.” 

“Why?” 

She shoots Kamala a dark look. “Don’t go fishing for answers you won’t get.” 

Kamala grins. “Is that what I’m doing? I’m sorry, Devi, I thought I was merely being curious.” 

“Do you really want to know?” 

She gives Devi an exasperated look. God, sometimes getting Devi to admit anything remotely emotional was harder than pulling teeth. She didn’t understand her insistence on locking everything up and refusing to face it. Did all teenagers do this? “Yes, Devi, I want to know. Oh my  _ god.” _

Devi smacks Kamala with the throw pillow this time, mussing her hair up. “I just don’t think I’ll like him very much.” 

“Why? You haven’t even met him.” 

Devi’s lip coils into a sneer. “I don’t know. I just got the feeling he was kind of an asshole from when he asked me out.”    
  
“You like assholes.” 

She crosses her arms defiantly. “No, I don’t.” 

“Might I remind you you said  _ yes?” _

Devi has no rebuttal to that, so she just sticks her tongue out at Kamala and burrows further into her seat. “Ok, fine.” 

Kamala’s never been good at hiding her emotions, never been good at not wearing her heart on her sleeve, so it makes sense that what she’s thinking is plastered all over her face, by the look that Devi gives her. 

“What do you wanna ask, Kamala?” she says tiredly. 

“Nothing?” Kamala protests. 

“You look like you wanna ask something. Spit it out, girl.” 

Kamala laughs. “Devi.” 

“Come on. I’ll spill whatever tea I want to. Ask me.” She pokes Kamala in the shoulder. “Come on, Kamala,” Devi whines. 

“You are aware you’re begging me to ask  _ you _ something.” 

Devi smirks. “I’m fucking bored.” 

“Does Ben know?” Kamala blurts out.

Her cousin nods, reaching over and stealing Kamala’s soda to take a sip from it. “Yeah. He does.”

“How did he react when you told him?” 

Devi flushes, a little red. “Why?” 

Kamala raises an eyebrow, biting back a smile. “You’re blushing.” 

“I’m not blushing!” 

She reaches out and taps Devi on the cheek. “You’re blushing. What’s going on between you and Ben?” 

“Again, I told you, nothing’s going on between Ben and I. I don’t like being cuffed.” 

“Ok, first of all, that’s inherently a patriarchal term.” 

“It’s not patriarchal if a badass bitch like me is using it,” Devi snorts. 

“Secondly, even you know it’s a lie that there’s nothing going on between you and Ben. That’s like saying there was nothing going on between Shah Rukh Khan and Kajol in  _ Kuch Kuch Hota Hai.” _

“We’re  _ DDLJ, _ not  _ KKHH.” _

“They still get together in that movie.” 

“Fuck. I never got past the first thirty minutes. Bollywood movies are too fucking long for me,” Devi groans. 

“Objectively terrible taste in Bollywood movies aside—” 

“I don’t have bad taste, just zero patience to watch people stumble around for three hours singing songs that are completely random.” 

“—something definitely happened between you two. You wouldn’t be blushing this much if it didn’t.” 

Kamala steals her soda back from Devi and sips it. “I’m waiting.” 

“I think we maybe went on a date,” Devi blurts out. 

Kamala chokes on her soda. That’s not at  _ all _ what she was expecting. 

(seriously? they went on a  _ date _ and devi’s still over here denying she has feelings for him? holy fucking god, this is idiocy beyond comprehension. at least admit you might have  _ feelings, _ even if she doesn’t know that she’s already head over heels in love with him. kamala is twenty-five, almost twenty-six. she seriously doesn’t understand this) 

“You went on a  _ date? _ Oh my god, Devi, what the hell are you doing?” 

Devi’s hands shake. “I don’t know.” 

Oh. Oh,  _ no. _

Kamala reaches out and curls her hand around Devi’s shoulder. “What do you mean by that?” 

Devi buries her face in her hands. “I’m so confused, Kamala. I just—I don’t know anything.” 

“Devi,” Kamala murmurs. “Talk to me.” 

“I just—I don’t know if I even  _ want _ him to like me.”

“What?” 

“I don’t think that he ever will, after what I did sophomore year.” 

Kamala holds a hand up. “What the hell did you do sophomore year?” 

Devi wraps her arms around her knees and pulls them tight, close to her chest. “I hurt him,” she murmurs. “I know I did.” 

“How?” 

Devi shakes her head. “I don’t want to get into it.” 

Kamala sighs, letting Devi tuck her head underneath her chin. “I promise you that whatever you did in sophomore year can’t be bad if he’s friends with you right now.” 

“You don’t know Ben like I do, Kamala. I was horrible to him.” 

(this is true, she doesn’t know ben like devi does. in fact, part of kamala thinks  _ no one _ knows ben like devi does, that no one else in the world really knows how he works like she does. but kamala also knows that hurting ben has been something devi has regretted for the past two years, something she feels an incredible amount of guilt over, and that she still hasn’t let herself really think about it)

“Don’t you think you’re hurting him again, by going on this date?” Kamala whispers, stroking Devi’s hair. 

“You can’t hurt someone if they don’t care about you.” 

Kamala gives Devi a humourless smile. “Yes, you can. And you know he cares about you.” 

“Not like that. He’s not dumb enough to do that again.” 

She bites her tongue, trying to keep herself from saying they both were exactly dumb enough to do that again, but she lets it go. She doesn't want to spend her time with Devi talking about something that clearly hurts her, and, as much as she wants to help Devi, she’s got to figure this out on her own. 

So, Kamala presses her lips to Devi’s hair, taking in the smell of jasmine, steady, soothing, comforting. “Ok, love,” she murmurs. “I’m here for you, though, if you need anything.” 

Devi shoots her the first genuine smile since they started talking about this. “You better be,” she laughs. “You’re never at your own house anymore.” 

“I’d rather be here with you.” 

Devi snorts. “You’re a fucking sappy bitch, every since you got hitched.” 

“I’ve always been sappy, thank you very much.” 

Devi laughs, bright, and reaches for the remote, switching the TV channel. “Yeah, and I hate it.” 

“No you don’t.” 

“Wish I did.” 

Kamala smiles. “I love you, you know that?” 

“I’m a fucking delight, why wouldn’t you?” 

Instead of responding, Kamala simply shoves Devi off of the couch, sending the popcorn scattering everywhere. She laughs at the look on Devi’s face, shocked, irritated, and maybe, just maybe, a little admiring.

“You’re a bitch, you know?” 

“As your sister, I’m required to be.” 

* * *

She wakes up ridiculously early the next morning and thinks about what Kamala had said. 

_ You can still hurt people who don’t care about you. _ And Ben cares about her. 

God, she’s so fucking confused about him, it drives her up the wall. The—what happened on Valentine’s Day, getting food together, spending time with him. 

(she feels like she’s in a downward spiral and every day, she gets closer and closer to facing the music and facing the facts. and devi likes facts, likes the certainty they provide, but she’s starting to think she likes ben more. it’s a scary thought, because once she starts having it, she starts thinking she might like ben more than a lot of other things in her life, more than almost everything else in her—) 

Devi sighs, running her hands down her face. 

Flashes of sophomore year play in her mind. Devi might be a bit of an idiot when it comes to her feelings, but she’s not  _ totally _ dumb. At the very least, she knows Ben had had feelings for her back in the beginning of sophomore year. It had been in his eyes every time he looked at her, that halfway sort of look. 

It reminds her of the way she looks at a rainbow or a shooting star—something beautiful and ephemeral—something that vanishes right before her very eyes. 

And she’s a cruel bitch, because she saw those looks, she processed them, and sometimes, late at night, when Paxton’s touch had slid of her skin (he never lingered, not like ben did) and her father’s absence tore a hole in her heart, she closed her eyes and thought about them, those looks. 

(what does it say about her that she took solace in ben’s pain, that she let herself find comfort in his eyes on hers, wanting her? she has never deserved him, if only for that) 

Devi flexes her hand and rolls over on her bed, staring at the vinyls Ben had given her for Christmas. Guilt pools in her stomach, when she thinks about it. Thinks about how badly she—she wants him sometimes. Thinks about the way she had treated him in the wake of sophomore year. 

Because losing Ben would be one of the worst things that ever happened to her. 

She throws the covers off her bed and stands up, looking at herself in the mirror. Tilts her neck to the side and brushes her fingers over the marks that Ben had given her the night she told him he was going on a date with this guy.

He’d not liked it, she knows that. The hickey on the underside of her jaw is proof enough for that. But she wonders, sometimes, if Ben is aware how complicated this thing between them is getting. 

That’s part of the reason she’s going on this date. To make sure that she’s just not getting too—too wrapped up in him and everything he is. To make sure that she’s not blowing things out of proportion. 

(nothing has ever happened proportionally with ben, though. he drives her to extremes, pushes her like no one else and makes her feel more emotion than she thinks it can handle. sometimes, he makes her feel so much it physically  _ hurts. _ that’s the thing about being young. it hurts)

And that—that  _ thing, _ that one thing that she doesn’t let herself think about, that he doesn’t even know had happened, had been more than enough proof for her. That one moment of weakness that she doesn’t let herself remember. 

Because coming back from spending Christmas break in India and finding that Ben Gross no longer wanted her was insanely painful, and although she had no right to his emotions, Devi had wanted them. 

(but that’s the problem, right, at the heart of this. she was only too happy to bury herself in paxton and let ben want her, because he was always the braver of the two of them, and wanting him back was painful)

She sighs, pulling her hair back into a bun and hopping into the shower. 

Things with him have been—tense, lately, but not for lack on her part either. She’s irritated with him. She wishes he’d stopped her. 

(what would she have done, if he had grabbed her by the wrist and tugged her flush against him, had covered her mouth with his and told her not to go on the date? what would she have done if he had asked her to stay?

(she would have listened to him, and that’s the scariest thing) 

a whirlpool, a hurricane, a spiraling storm, is what she finds in him) 

Stopped her. He should have stopped her. 

But the thing about her and Ben is that he’s physically incapable of putting himself first, and Devi hates it. 

She opens her eyes, lets the water run over her face. 

(a groups of butterflies is called a kaleidoscope, and she finds that in his eyes) 

Devi sighs as she steps out of the shower, wrapping a towel around herself. She dresses quickly, routinely grabbing the concealer, and covering up the marks on her neck, thinking about the press of Ben’s lips against her neck, thinking about the way he had kissed her on Valentine’s. 

Sometimes she wants him so much her teeth ache, and then she’s reminded she’s not entitled to him anymore. 

Because here is the thing: in her heart of hearts, Devi is a taker. She knows she is, knows she takes from Ben, knows she craves him. But she’s too scared to give anything back. 

And the worst thing is that Ben is a giver who knows it. 

She’s never hated herself for anything more. 

All of this is running through her mind, running on autopilot, as she leaves for school. It’s been a bit awkward, lately, at lunch for the past few days. He’s found excuses to not sit with her and Eleanor and Fabiola, and while Fabiola doesn’t think much of it, Devi knows Eleanor is getting suspicious. 

Devi sighs, sweeping her hair to the side and locking her front door behind her. This is ridiculous. She just needs to stop thinking about blue-eyed boys and fuckups at fifteen. 

She slips in her earbuds and walks to school, forcing those thoughts out of her mind, and meets up with her friends. 

“Hey, guys,” Devi says, pulling her earbuds out as she greets them. 

“Mm,” Eleanor hums, pulling her textbook out of her locker. “What’s this about a date you have, Ms. Vishwakumar?” 

Devi’s mouth drops open. “How did you know about that?” 

“I was to some thrift stores with Benjamin yesterday and asked him if he wanted to go see that new play down at the theater with me. I mentioned making it a group thing, but he said you had a date.” 

Devi growls, clutching her textbook. “What?” 

“Don’t blame him, Devi.” Eleanor flips her hair over her shoulder. “It just slipped out. Honestly, I’m more offended you didn’t tell us first.” 

Fabiola shoots her a confused look. “Yeah, why did you tell Ben before us?” 

“I—it just slipped out for me too,” she stammers. 

Eleanor purses her lips and nods. “Ok, then,” she murmurs. Her eyes trace over Devi’s face, and distressingly, Devi feels like she can see right into her soul. 

(ben’s always understood her better than anyone else in the world, but eleanor is a close second, and with the way she is looking at devi right now, devi feels like she is a butterfly pinned to a paper, struggling to be free) 

She laughs it off, walking over to her own locker and twisting it open. “‘It’s not a big deal. I don’t think it’s going to go anywhere, you know. Just a regular date with some guy.” 

“Just some guy, David? Why’d you say yes then?” 

Devi turns around to find Ben, smirking at her. It’s strange, though, strangely cold. 

It reminds her of the way he had looked at her in second semester of sophomore year, like she was—nothing. 

Like the week they had spent together didn’t mean anything. Like Malibu hadn’t even happened. 

(she’d been so, so hurt by it, so hurt by the cold, apathetic way he had treated her, but she had no right to feel hurt, because she had been so much worse to him, and this was simply a taste of her own medicine) 

Devi feels a chill roll down her spine. “I wanted something new,” she snaps.

His mouth curls into a sneer, and he grips the edge of the locker door tightly. “New, huh?” 

Devi stares at him. “Yes.” 

Ben nods stiffly, and his face does that—that  _ thing _ she hates, settling into a calm, composed mask, devoid of emotions. 

He’s scary calculating sometimes, with what he says, and Devi wishes she had that same ability. Ben walks on eggshells, is extremely good at covering what he feels, even with her. 

(walls thirty-five feet tall and ten feet thick don’t work on him) 

“Have fun,” he says easily. He pauses, and her heart thumps as she waits for his response. He’s devastatingly, easily charming around some people, a silver tongue. He’d never been like this before her. 

“I’m just saying, you might want to touch up on the makeup before.” He shuts his locker, eyes sweeping over her neck. “I think your concealer is rubbing off. Or, you could just leave it. More natural is better in my eyes.” 

“Why would I give a shit about what you think?” she snaps. 

“Fair enough,” he says. He steps closer to her, though, leaning in, so Eleanor and Fabiola can’t hear them. “Just thought you might want to know my opinion on the matter.” 

She digs her nails into her notebook and just barely resists the urge to curl her hands around his neck—to strangle him or pull him in for a kiss—she doesn’t know. 

“I’ve never cared,” she answers flippantly. “You don’t know much about having a girlfriend, do you?” 

He smirks, smug and careful. “If I did, I could tell you she wouldn’t look for anything new.” 

He steps back then, moving to the AP Euro classroom. “Have fun on the date. Hope you don’t die of boredom,” he says, winking at her. 

“Dear god,” Eleanor mutters. “You two are ridiculous.” 

Devi ignores her best friend and stalks into the classroom after him, pointedly ignoring Ben as she flops into her seat, trying to stop her teeth from gnashing. 

She hates that he’s doing this to her. 

For the next two days, he treats her the same way, cold and careful and calloused and she would hate it so much fucking more if she didn’t find it impossibly attractive, and infuriating. She wants him to sink his teeth into her neck and talk to her with that same detached tone of voice. 

It makes her body ache for him. 

But Devi’s never been passive, not once in her whole life, and least of all when it comes to Ben, and so, she fights back. Sly remarks and digs, tossing her hair over her shoulder so his eyes can sweep down the length of her neck, leaning just a bit too close to him during AP Biology so he can smell her perfume, making sure he’s in earshot when she talks about her date. She can withstand being burned. 

Devi should remember, though, that Ben is not a fire. He is a storm, and she forgot how extensive storm damage can be. 

It all sort of explodes in bio on Friday. 

They’re doing a simple DNA lab, synthesizing their DNA from cheek swabs, and yet, it’s impossibly, insanely charged. 

(devi would do well to remember the rules of electrochemistry—that voltage can only be produced until one of the compounds is consumed. she can sustain this only until one of them is destroyed, and she fears she has already done that to him. it is oxygen and fire all over again, she needs him and consumes him all at the same time. fire has never been able to sustain itself without destroying something else) 

Ben’s too fucking attractive for his own good, and she really, really hates it. 

Because, he  _ knows _ what he’s doing when he twirls a pen around his hands effortlessly as their teacher drones on and on about the lab, he knows what he’s doing when he catches her looking at his hands. He knows what he’s doing when he smirks at her. 

Good enough for her, she knows what she’s doing as well, when she tosses her hair over her shoulder and smirks back. 

Blatantly flirting with him in the back of their biology classroom should not be as much fun as it is, but sue her. 

(he always makes her lose control) 

“So, David,” he drawls, leaning back in his chair once their teacher finishes her explanation on the lab, “you ready to do this?” 

Devi shifts in her seat, turning to face him, tossing one leg over the other and thanking her lucky stars she wore a flattering pair of jeans today, watching how his gaze drifts down to her legs. “Eyes up here, asshole.” 

“Hmm,” he just hums, not moving them. 

“Hey,” she bites out, snapping her fingers in front of his eyes. “Let’s get this stupid thing done, ok?” 

Ben flips the pen over his hands, over and over again, the motion so smooth and hypnotic she would think he was doing it on purpose if not for the way he glances down at the lab, lips pinching in frustration. “Fine,” he bites out. “Guess you don’t have to have any work hanging over your head when you go on your date tonight, right?” 

Devi glares at him. “Fuck off,” she spits. 

He scowls at her, pushing away from the desk and hopping off his lab stool to grab the materials, practically shoving them in her face when he gets back. 

They work in almost complete silence for the majority of the lab, adding the different chemical compounds to break down the cell walls and extract the DNA, but she doesn’t like this. She doesn’t like cold, contained silence with Ben. She likes explosions. 

Devi is a landmine, and Ben has just put pressure on her. 

It’s small, really, what sets her off, but she’s never needed much, not when it comes to him, anyways. 

Because all it takes is him bumping into her while moving over to grab a pipette, and she explodes.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” she snaps. 

Ben flinches back, clutching the pipette in shock. “What the hell?” 

“All fucking week,” she bites out. “You’ve been fucking—I don’t know, tormenting me. I’m not  _ yours, _ you know. I’ve got free reign to do whatever the fuck I want. Whoever the fuck I want.” 

“Right,” he snaps back. “And it’s not like you’ve been doing the same to me, right? Don’t be a fuckng hypocrite, David.” 

“You’re the most infuriating asshole on the planet.” 

“Maybe search your brain and use the one cell you’ve been gifted to think up something else. I’m tired of hearing the same song over and over again.” 

She reaches out and shoves him, sending him stumbling back into the lab table. “You’re such a dick.” 

Ben clenches his jaw, blue eyes flashing dangerously. “Right, Devi. I’m the dick in this situation. Me.” 

She curls her hands into fists. “You know what you’re doing. You don’t get to do that.” 

“Point out where in the contract it says that.” 

“Like you’ve even respected it!” she yells. 

“You’re just as much to blame as me!” he shouts back. 

Devi slams her hands down on the lab table, and the beaker full of water—already precariously on the edge—wobbles, before finally tipping over to the side, smashing on the floor. 

They stare at it in horror, before turning to look at each other with wide eyes, already knowing what’s coming. 

“Detention,” their teacher snaps. “Improper lab procedures are no joke.” 

She curls her fingers into her palms and shoots him a dark look. “Again,” she bites out. “It’s your fault.” 

Ben’s dark, dark blue eyes lock with hers, shockingly impassive and unbothered. “No, it’s not.” 

* * *

It’s her turn, now. 

She knows she can drive Ben up the wall just as much as he can to her, and she’s not taken full advantage of that yet. She’s not sitting around, letting him do this to her. She’s taking control of the situation. 

This time, they’re in the chemistry room, cleaning the lab supplies left over from the last period, when she starts it. 

It’s innocent, at first, the brush of her hand against his arm, pressing her palm against the space between his shoulder blades as she passes him. He notices what she’s doing right away, because Ben picks up on fucking everything, his jaw tightening when she glances at him. 

“You ok, Gross?”

“Just fine, David.” 

Devi smiles a bit too smugly. “Good.” 

She leans forward and presses herself up against his side so she can reach over him for something. “Peak condition is always preferred by me.” 

“Flirting with me on the day you’re going out with another guy?” he rumbles, voice pitched low and dark. “Bold of you.” 

She steps away from him and trails her hand across his shoulder blades. “I have always been rather gutsy.” 

“That’s one word I could use to describe you.” 

She sucks in a breath when his eyes meet hers, blown wide, a ring of dark blue around the pupils. She wants to grab him and lock him in a room with her and take her fill of him. 

“What else would you wanna call me right now?” she murmurs. She walks—saunters, really—over to him, fingers dancing over his shoulders, moving to the collar of his shirt, trailing along his neckline. His skin erupts in the wake of her touch with goosebumps, causing a smile to appear on her lips.

“What do you want me to say?” 

Devi tilts her head, smirking. “How else would you describe me? Tell me what you want to call me.” 

His jaw tightens. “Do you really want to know that, Devi?” 

She grabs the rack of test tubes and tosses a smug smile over her shoulder as she steps into the closet. “I do.” 

He follows her in, grabs the test tube rack and shoves it on a shelf. He’s so close, but he still doesn’t touch her. “You’re ridiculously hot, you know that?” 

Devi places a finger on his chest and trails it down his sternum. “That’s not what I asked for, Ben.” 

She leans in, letting her lips brush the shell of his ear. “What do you want to call me?” 

She can see his throat bob as he swallows roughly. 

“Come on, Ben,” she goads. She curls her hands into the tops of his jeans and tugs him closer, pressing her body flush against his, running her tongue across her lips so his eyes drop down to her mouth. “What do you want to call me?” 

“Mine.” 

Devi relishes the word falling from his lips. “Really?” she murmurs, eyes flicking over his face. “You like that, hmm? Like calling me yours.” 

He nods. “I do.” 

She shoves down the sheer rush of lust that surges through her. “But it’s not your choice, is it? It’s mine.” 

At his side, his hands flex. “Your choice.” 

“And right now,” she murmurs. “I want you to get me off in this supply closet. You’ll listen to anything I ask of you, right, Ben?” 

“Yes,” he says, immediately. 

She pulls him backwards, tugging them back against the wall. It’s strangely circular, this same situation having gotten them into this tangled mess of an arrangement months ago. 

She wants him. 

Devi curls her hands around his shoulders and tugs him forward, pulling him into her and slamming their lips together. 

Ben reciprocates instantly, kissing her back hard, hungrily. It’s been too long, too long since she’s had his lips pressed against hers, and he kisses her like he’s a starving man and she’s his last meal, kisses her like he wants to ravage her. 

(fire and oxygen, fire and oxygen) 

He kisses her like he wants to destroy her. Devi moans into his mouth, as he tilts his head and lets a hand dig into her hair, tilting her head up so he can kiss her harder, deeper, running his tongue across her bottom lip before his teeth sink into it, almost painfully. 

She bucks into him when his hands dig into her hip, hard, hard enough to leave bruises, and the thought that she will show up to her date with marks on her hips from his fingers is thrilling, far more than it should be. She wants to claw at his skin and mark him in the same way, wants everyone to know he’s  _ hers. _

Devi pulls away from his mouth and pants. The tension between them is so thick she can’t breathe. His eyes on her are a little hungry, a little feral, and he looks like he could devour her. Like he could  _ consume _ her.

Ben reaches a hand up and cups her cheek, thumb scoring over her lips, before he leans down and nips at her neck. Devi moans, head falling back against the wall shamelessly, and he rakes his teeth down her neck, sucking at her skin. His hand curves around her waist and pulls her to him, splaying his fingers over the small of her back. 

Ben drags his mouth up and down her neck, and she notes he’s biting at it more than usual, but she can’t really complain, not when it makes her muscles melt and her eyes roll back in her head. He moves to her collarbone, scraping his teeth over the stretch of her skin. 

Devi nudges his cheek with her nose, drawing his attention back to her face.

Leaning forward, she tugs on his earlobe with her teeth. “Unzip my jeans,” she says. 

He complies instantly, hands shaking slightly as he does so. “Good,” Devi murmurs. 

“Now, I want your hands in me.” 

She gasps as he pushes two fingers in her, steady, unmoving. “Oh, god,” she murmurs. “Good, good. I like that.” 

“Hmm,” he murmurs. “I know you do.” 

Devi’s eyes flutter open to lock with his. “I want you to kiss me.” 

He nods, and then leans forward. She tilts her head up for a kiss, expecting his lips to collide with hers, but he instead leans down and presses a kiss to where her neck meets her shoulder. “Ben.” she bites out. “That’s not what I meant.” 

“You have to be precise in your language, Devi,” he murmurs back. “Do you want to know why I haven’t moved my hand yet?” 

He twists his hand two degrees, and Devi clutches his biceps, arching against him. “Why?” she gasps. 

“Because you haven’t told me to.” 

“Oh, right,” she murmurs, head thudding back against the wall. 

“Does this make you feel powerful, Devi?” he hums. “Having me get you off before you go on a date with another guy?” 

There’s bitterness laced into the statement, and Devi’s heart aches. She forgot entirely about her date. 

“You’re cruel, Devi,” he snipes. “Is that all I am to you? Someone you can use and then throw aside whenever you want? Someone disposable?” 

(she opens her eyes to stare at him, whimpering at the look in his eyes. he’s the opposite of disposable to her, he’s indispensable. tied into her life the way the moon and the tides are tied to one another, unable to ever be really, truly separated) 

“No,” she gasps, when he finally, finally starts moving his hands. “You’re—you’re not disposable.” 

“Hmm.” Ben leans down and scrapes his teeth over her neck, sucking a mark into the side of her throat. “You’ve been treating me like I am.” 

“No, Ben,” she groans. “No, you’re—you’re not.” 

He picks up speed, and she arches into him, moaning shamelessly. “I’m getting you close, aren’t I? You gonna go on a date with someone else after I’ve fucked you? Gonna talk to him and think about me? You’re fighting an uphill battle here, Devi. You know that.” 

“I’m not. Ben—Ben, I—” 

“Do you think I’m disposable, Devi?” 

“No, Ben,” she sobs, scoring her nails across his back harshly. “You’re—you’re important to me,” she breathes. “You’re—you’re my friend, Ben.” 

“Your friend,” he murmurs. He twists his hand and plunges his fingers into her deeper, ripping a moan from her throat. 

“I can’t—can’t lose you,” she chokes out. “I need you.” 

(she needs more than just this, quickies in closets and hickeys on her skin, she needs his smile and his eyes and his hand in hers, she needs him, every piece of him. devi’s always been selfish, and she’s at her worst when it comes to ben)

“That’s right,” he says. “You need me to give you what you want.” 

“I want to—to tell you what I want.” 

“Do it, Devi.” Ben rubs at her harder. “You’re in control?” 

“I’m—I’m the one in control here,” she murmurs. “Go harder.” 

He complies, pressing his thumb against her clit, circling it almost lazily, languidly, sending electricity through her body. He catalogues every single one of her reactions, eyes studying her as intensely as one would study a map of the world to circumnavigate it. 

“Ben,” she whimpers. “Ben, tell me how good I feel.” 

“You feel fucking amazing, Devi,” he murmurs. “I love seeing you like this. Fuck, come on, throw your head back for me. Say my name, come on.” 

Devi pants, reaching up and scratching her nails across his back, feeling her legs get shakier and shakier. “You’re—asking me for a lot, right there,” she chokes out. 

“Do you know how much I love being the only one who can make you feel like this?” 

“That—that’s quite full of yourself, isn’t it?” she chokes out. Ben sinks his teeth into her neck as his hand picks up speed, thumb rubbing harder, faster circles over her clit as his fingers move faster. “Oh, god.” 

“You admitted it to me. I like hearing you say it.” 

Her eyes flutter open so she can take him in, drink in every inch of his face. He looks at her greedily, and it punches the air out of her lungs when her eyes lock with his. 

(hunger. there’s no other word to describe the look in his eyes as anything other than pure, visceral hunger, starved and ravenous. for a split second, she wonders if this is what an animal feels like just before a predator sinks its teeth into its prey’s neck) 

“Ben,” she cries. “Keep going.” 

“Hmm,” he hums. “How close are you, Devi?” 

She’s so close she can taste it on her tongue, climbing the rollercoaster, about to crash over the edge. “So close, Ben,” she promises. 

“Hmm,” he hums. “Do you like feeling like you’re in control, Devi?” 

Her eyes fly open at the cool, detached tone in his voice, and Devi feels a shiver run down her spine at the languid, easy way he says the words. It’s too fucking attractive, and she digs her nails harder into his skin. “I am in control,” she chokes out. 

“Are you  _ really?” _ he whispers. 

Devi’s eyes slip shut as he goes faster, and she’s there, she’s there, she’s so close and, flying, getting there and—

He pulls his hand out of her, zipping her jeans back up, and Devi crashes back into the ground, almost painfully. “Because,” he murmurs. “You’re not.” 

Devi’s eyes fly open, and she doesn’t manage to temper down the cry of protest that rips from her throat. “What—what the fuck?” she groans, breathing heavily, back pressed against the wall. 

Every single inch of her skin feels tight, and her thighs are slick, and she desperately needs to come, desperately needs him to push her over the edge. “Come on,” she groans. 

Ben leans forward. “No. You don’t get to tell me what to do when you’re going on a date with someone else. I want you to go like this.” 

He pulls back, staring at her, eyes dark. “And I want you to think about this. Think about the fact that you let me touch you and almost make you come before you went on a date with someone else,” he growls. 

Stepping forward, he presses her into the wall, firmly, and trails his finger down her neck. “Maybe you shouldn’t cover up the hickeys,” he murmurs, casually. 

She’s shaking underneath his touch and he’s treating it so easily, without a care in the world. The only reason she knows he’s affected by this at all is because of the wholly possessive gleam in his eyes. 

“Ben, Ben, I—” 

“No, Devi,” he murmurs. “I’m not going to fuck you before you see another guy. I want you to  _ know _ I could have. I could have fucked you before you went on a date with someone else. I want you to think about the fact that I marked your skin when you’re sitting across from him. Think about me, the whole time.” 

He pulls away from her then, stepping back. A cold smirk crosses his face, and her heart pounds, her head spins. 

(dizzying heights and breathless lows, he takes her everywhere and nowhere and she wants him) 

“Prove to me I’m indispensable.” 

“Ben,” she says again. She won’t beg. She won’t. “Ben.” 

“Sorry,” he whispers. “You’ve got to prove it.” 

He steps backwards, curling his hand around the door handle of the closet. “Let me know what happens on your date,” he murmurs. 

And then he vanishes out the door and Devi sinks to the floor, her legs shaking. “Oh my god,” she breathes. 

She tries to take steadying, calming breaths, but she can’t. 

(she feels like she’s been smashed into pieces, torn apart, and she hasn’t even come, but storm damage lasts, cracks in the foundation where water seeps in and eats away at the cement, and devi closes her eyes, trying to forget the feeling of his mouth on her neck and his hands on her but she can’t she can’t she can’t) 

Fuck, she  _ really _ doesn’t want to go on this date. 

* * *

Devi bites her lip and smooths her hands down her dress. It’s blue, a dark navy blue, with a high collar and square neckline, and falls to her knees, and yet, she doesn’t feel beautiful in it. 

(nothing makes her feel as beautiful like she does when ben’s eyes are on her) 

Devi leans in closer to the mirror, looking over her neck one more time to make sure her concealer has extensively covered up all the marks Ben has left on her neck. 

She clenches her jaw, and pushes those thoughts out of her mind. That’s not who she’s supposed to be thinking about. 

Kenneth is—is nice. She thinks. He’s 18, a senior at one of the other high schools in the Valley, frequents the library and hasn’t leered at her. He likes military history and economics, if she remembers, and he’d asked her out to dinner. They’re going to one of the diners nearby.

She wonders, for a split second, if her dress is too nice, but it’s something she’d wear to school, so it’s not too bad. 

Grabbing her purse and slinging it over her shoulder, Devi gives herself one last glance in the mirror, running her fingers over her hips. 

Not tonight. 

She slips out of the house quietly, firing off a text to Kamala to make sure she’s covered for tonight. She’d told her mom that she was going to be hanging out with Kamala at her house the whole night, and that Prashant was driving her home at the end of it. 

She texts Kenneth that she’s waiting for him outside her place, and shivers, wrapping her hands around herself. It’s a chilly day, despite it being only 6pm. 

He pulls up a moment later, in a fucking Mercedes-Benz. Devi tries not to let her jaw drop. 

“Oh, wow,” she says. 

Kenneth leans down and flashes her a grin. “Nice, right?” 

“Um, expensive,” she counters, stepping forward. “I think. I don’t know much about cars,” she admits, hating to be a stereotypical girl. 

(to be fair, ben doesn’t know much about cars beyond how to turn his on and put gas in it, so like, it’s not  _ all _ or  _ just _ girls) 

Why does she keep thinking about him?

Kenneth laughs, loud and a bit shrill. “Yeah, of course you don’t.” 

Devi’s back stiffens, just the slightest bit. “What do you mean?” 

“Well, you’re a girl, right?” 

She frowns. To be fair, she had admitted it to him not just a moment before, so she can’t really hold it against him. “Yeah, but just because I’m a girl doesn’t mean I don’t know anything about cars.” She steps off the curb and opens the door, sliding into the passenger seat. “I don’t know anything about cars cause I have no interest in them.” 

Kenneth just smiles placidly. “Ok,” he says. 

Devi brushes back a lock of her hair. “So, to the diner?” 

“Yeah,” he says, shifting into drive, pulling away from the curb. “The car was actually a birthday present from my parents,” he remarks, casually. 

Devi nods. “Oh. Expensive present,” she laughs. 

“Not really.” He runs a hand through his blonde hair, sweeping it back from his face. “It was one of the older models, so it wasn’t as expensive as it could have been.” 

Devi stares at him, blinking slowly. “Oh. Ok then.” 

Kenneth glances over at her, flashing a smile full of shockingly white teeth at her. “So, where are you going in the fall?” 

She jumps on the topic, happy to have something easy to talk about. “Princeton,” she says, unable to keep the note of pride out of her voice. “It’s where I’ve wanted to go my whole life.” 

He laughs. “Princeton? Really?” 

Something in his voice rubs her the wrong way, and she barely bites back a scowl. Maybe she’s just—getting used to him, and the way he talks. She hasn’t exactly met a bunch of new people, with spending all her time with her family and friends, and Ben. 

Stop  _ thinking _ about him. 

“What—what’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Oh, nothing,” he says. “Just that it’s not  _ Harvard, _ you know?” 

Devi bites her tongue to stop herself from saying something ridiculously rude. “It’s still a good school,” she says, defensively. “Are  _ you _ going to Harvard?” 

Kenneth nods. “Yup. I go to Hargrove Prep, remember? It’s an Ivy feeder school. Not to mention my family’s been going there since like, the university was founded,  _ and _ my dad donates money all the time.” 

Devi nods, struggling to keep the pleasant smile on her face. “Right. Donates.” 

She doesn’t know why this is pissing her off so much. She’s heard it from so many other white guys in her school before. It’s not an untrue sentiment. It just—irritating, still. Especially after being a relatively privileged person when it comes to academics. 

(but it’s just—weird, she thinks. fabiola and eleanor talk to her about it all the time, and she knows eleanor’s worries about her student loans. she knows she’s lucky to be able to pay for college. fuck, even  _ ben _ knows, and he’s a dick. it’s weird, talking to someone, who so blatantly doesn’t get it) 

Nodding, Kenneth turns into the complex jarringly sudden, Devi wincing as she’s thrown against the car door a bit. “Yeah. I can’t wait to head to campus.” 

Kenneth pulls into the parking lot of the diner and hops out of the car, Devi following him. “I don’t know why you wanted us to come here,” he comments, sliding his car keys into his pocket. “It’s run down.” 

Her nails dig into her palms. “I like it,” she snaps. “It’s cozy.” 

Devi shoves open the door, not even waiting for his response, but she hears him snort behind her. “Cozy is just another synonym for dingy.” 

She ignores him as she walks in, picking an empty booth to slide into while Kenneth sits opposite her. She picks out the menu from the ketchup stand, flipping it open. “So, what are you thinking about getting?” 

Kenneth snorts. “I’m not eating anything from here. It’s ridiculously unhealthy food.” 

She stares at him. “So then why did you agree to coming here?” 

He shrugs. “I wanted to take you out, and I thought fighting you on it wouldn’t let me do that.” 

“So you just let me steamroll you?” she says, blankly. 

He leans back against the vinyl of the seat. “Anything to take a hot girl out,” he says, grinning smugly. 

(ben would have never let her steamroll him) 

Devi grips the menu a bit tighter. “You know I’m not just hot, right? I’m going to Princeton. And you should have told me. Now you’re not going to eat anything.” 

He waves his hand. “I’ll be fine,” he says, casually. “I’m on a diet anyways.” 

Devi nearly chokes on the water the waitress has just set down, trying to bite back a smile. “Right, ok.” 

They order—well, she orders her food and drink, and Kenneth, predictably, just gets a juice. 

"So,” Kenneth says, leaning forward and lacing his fingers together. His hazel eyes glint in the fluorescent light, almost harshly. “What do you wanna be when you grow up?” 

Devi sips her water, drumming her fingers against the table. “Lawyer,” she says. “Well, that’s my number one option, at least.” 

“Lawyer, huh?” he smirks, tilting his head. “That’s a hard job.” 

“Yes. I’m aware,” she says flatly.

“Right, well, I’m sure you’ll do fine. You like arguing, right?” 

She nods. “Well, yeah, I always like to see how a topic can be presented and the different points of view that result from different life experiences people—” 

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, cutting her off. “But like, arguing so rarely uses actual facts. Plus, aren’t there times when you just want to strangle the person you’re arguing with?” 

(all the time, she thinks, rather fondly. she felt compelled to strangle ben at least thrice, when they got going. if she  _ didn’t _ want to kill him, then it wasn’t really an argument between them) 

“Well, if your argument isn’t good enough to stand on its own, then that’s your fault.” 

Kenneth smirks. “So you wouldn’t attack the person?” 

She raises an eyebrow. “That’s just the hallmark of a bad debater. You should be able to think on your feet.” 

“Right, yeah. Just that being a lawyer is a busy job. You think you can handle it?”

There is a tone there, a tone that makes the hair on the back of Devi’s neck stand up, that makes her blood start to boil and simmer. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she says, carefully. 

“Nothing. There’s just a reason there’s not many women at the top. It’s a stressful job. They just can’t handle it.” 

Devi’s control snaps, and, she’s not going to sit here and be insulted by—by some wannabe Harvard douchebag who doesn’t even go to the fucking  _ school _ yet. 

So, she stands up, and, gripping her water glass tightly, tosses the drink in his face, relishing in the way the cold water smacks him in the eyes. 

“What—what the fuck?” Kenneth splutters. 

Devi smiles her first genuine smile on the whole date. “Thanks for that, Kenneth,” she says, voice dripping with mock adoration and devotion. “I’ve always wanted to throw my drink in a guy’s face.” 

She digs into her purse while he’s still gaping up at her, water dripping off his nose, and tosses a twenty down on the table. “Choke on it,” she snaps, before stalking out of the diner. 

The cold air brushes her arms as soon as she walks outside, and, well, she’s only really got one person to call in a time like this. 

So, Devi dials Fabiola’s phone number. 

She ducks into the boutique a few doors down from the diner, trying not to freeze, and browsing through the cute clothes, until Fabiola pulls up in her car and texts that she’s here.

Devi practically tears out of the boutique, hopping into Fabiola’s car as fast as she can. “Fab, you’re a goddamn life-saver,” she groans.

“You know, you’re not the first one to say that,” Fabiola says, pulling out of the parking lot. “I should start charging, or something. Maybe get business cards.” 

Devi laughs. “What would they even say?” 

“Oh, they wouldn’t say anything,” Fabiola comments easily, turning her headlights on. “They’d just be warnings for women who are attracted to men.” 

Devi leaves back against her seat and turns to look at her friend. “Fab,” she whines. “Teach me how to be a lesbian.” 

“You gotta take a course,” Fabiola quips back. “Pay an entry fee of $69 dollars.”

“Fab!” Devi cries, scandalized, but amused. 

Fabiola shoots a grin at her. “So, how was this white boy?” 

Devi sighs, tracing the lines of her palm over and over again. “A dick,” she murmurs. “I don’t really want to keep talking about it.” 

“Would have thought you liked him. Aren’t you into assholes?” 

“Why does everyone think that?” Devi yells, throwing up her hands. “Oh, and can we head to Panera? I didn’t get any dinner, and I’m  _ starving.” _

Fabiola takes a right, away from Devi’s house and towards Panera, smirking at her friend. “Cause you’re an asshole,” she answers. 

Devi scowls at her friend good naturedly. “Wow, thanks for the glowing praise, Fab. I feel so loved.” 

“You should,” Fabiola comments. “Not many people can be assholes and have that be complimentary. You found probably the only other person in the Valley who can.” 

Devi raises an eyebrow at her friend. “What?” 

Fabiola parks, switching her car off. “Ben?” She raises an eyebrow. “You two are attached at the hip ever since that Tycho Brahe project in like, fucking September,” she says. “Ben’s an ass.” 

“Say that again, please,” Devi says, fishing out her phone. “I want to play it for him.” 

Fabiola smirks, leaning and repeating the words into Devi’s phone. “I’m just saying, Devi, you’re an asshole, but you’re a good person at the heart of it. Ben’s the same.” 

She grumbles. “Can we just—not talk about guys tonight?” 

Fabiola scoffs. “Please. So, wanna hear how Eve and I pissed off her batshit homophobic uncle at her family barbecue the other week?” 

“Always,” Devi says, dead serious. 

She and Fabiola grab a table and wait for their food, and Devi can’t help at the slightly manic, but energetic look in Fabiola’s eyes as she recounts her crazy adventures with her girlfriend. Fab’s face always gets a bit softer and more open when she talks about Eve. 

(she wants that) 

The thought slams into Devi like a train at full speed, and she nearly slumps back in her seat at the force of it, just managing to catch herself and act normal at the last moment.

She  _ wants _ that? The last time Devi had wanted a relationship had been two years ago, with Paxton. She doesn’t want that. She wants to stick to hookups and flings and nothing serious. A commitment is messy. A relationship is messy. 

(this arrangement she has with ben, it’s messy) 

She glances down at the table as Fabiola leaves to get their food, tracing circles in the condensation of her glass. The whole time she had been with Kenneth—all of twenty-five minutes—she had been bored out of her mind, wishing she was with  _ him. _

And she hates herself for it, because she threw away time with one of the best people in the world for someone who isn't worth the dirt on Ben’s shoe. 

But she doesn’t want to linger on that right now, linger on the flash of blue eyes and the dip of a dimple, doesn’t want to linger on a bright laugh or sturdy fingers, tangling with her own. 

Instead, she chooses to focus on the curve of Fab’s smile. 

She’s a better dinner partner for Devi anyways. She’s always been a better everything. 

So, Devi listens to her best friend and ignores persistent thoughts of blue-eyed boys, laughing until her stomach hurts. 

* * *

_ “Come on,” he murmurs, tracing his hands over the inside of her thigh. “You can do this.”  _

_ Her hands dive into his hair, and it’s almost vulgar, the sounds that tear themselves from her throat when she feels his teeth graze the curve of her thigh.  _

_ “We—not here,” she gasps, moaning when she feels his tongue flick out.  _

_ No matter how many times he does this, she never really gets used to the feeling of his head between her thighs, hair brushing against her skin. Something about it is ridiculously salacious, obscene and filthy, and that only spurs her on even more.  _

_ The choice of locale furthers this feeling, of course.  _

_ “Oh, god,” she moans. She can’t tell if the fact that she’s still fully dressed, perched on the edge of her desk in the history classroom, is adding to how she feels.  _

_ “Not here?” She feels his smirk pressed against her thigh. “Isn’t this like, a secret fantasy of yours, or something?”  _

_ Her eyes flutter open, staring at the ceiling. “What—what the fuck?”  _

_ “Hold on to the desk.” He drags his thumbs over the dip of her thigh, before shifting his mouth, and a broken sob slips from her mouth as her fingers curl over the edge of the desk.  _

_ Fuck, she’s going to pass out in her goddamn history classroom, while he goes down on her.  _

_ He’s merciless, relentless, just this side of brutal, and it’s not long before she’s shaking, fingernails scraping against the wood of the desk, and colors swirl and flash before her eyes, sensations flooding through her body like a wave.  _

_ “My god,” she whimpers. “Right, right, ok.”  _

_ He scatters kisses along her thighs as he pulls his head out from underneath her skirt—which makes the whole thing feel about thirty times more lascivious. He grins at her, eyes roving over her, chest heaving and skin flushed. “You’ve got a filthy mind.”  _

_ She wishes she had working control of her legs so she could kick him, but they’re so weak they’re shaking.  _

_ “Fuck you,” she gasps.  _

_ “That’s your job,” he smirks. _

_ She curls her hands into his collar, intending to pull him into a kiss to get started on doing that, and tilts her head up so that his lips can— _

* * *

Devi wakes up with a gasp, sweat plastering her clothes to her body. 

“Fuck,” she groans, shifting in her bed. 

She turns to see the time on the clock. 3:26 am. 

It’s too hot in her room, so she tosses the covers off her bed and runs her hands over her face, trying to calm the racing of her heart. She’s disgusting, covered in sweat and still half in the throes of the dream, so she decides to take a cold shower. 

She stumbles into the shower cubicle, pressing a hand against the wall as the cold water pours over her. This is starting to turn into a fucking  _ routine. _

It had started Friday night, and now it’s Sunday night—well, Monday morning, and she’s had three sex dreams in a row about Ben, all of which leave her skin hot and aching and tight. She doesn’t know what it is about these dreams that make them a million times more intense, that leave her still wanting, but she’s getting exhausted with them. 

Devi pulls herself out of the shower and tugs on another pair of pajamas, slipping back into her bed, trying not to lose her mind as she stares at the ceiling. 

(she needs to stop thinking about him. she’s stronger than this) 

She can do this. 

She most certainly can  _ not _ do this, she realizes, at school, that Monday. 

It was ok over the weekend, because she didn’t see him, and she didn’t have to deal with his blue eyes on hers, she didn’t have to think about her dreams as long as he wasn’t right fucking there, but now he’s right there. 

Devi grips her pencil tightly, and doesn’t let herself stare at his back in AP Euro, doesn’t let her think about the dream she just had about this very fucking classroom. Just being in here makes her heart pound irrationally fast. 

But AP Euro is nothing compared to biology. 

It’s not that he touches her, working her up, it’s not that his fingertips on her skin sets her aflame. 

It’s that he doesn’t touch her. 

Not even casually, in fact, she knows for a fact he’s avoiding touching her. She can’t blame him. She did go out with someone else, even if Kenneth was an absolute asshole, even if he was terrible, she made that decision. 

She bites her lip, guilt pooling in her stomach viscerally when she clears her throat to get his attention, and he flinches. 

“Um, did you finish the lab?” she asks, quietly. 

He nods, not taking his eyes off the paper. “Yeah. Here.” He shoves the paper over and glances away from her, and Devi feels her heart shatter a bit in her chest. 

(she has no one to blame but herself, and she wonders if that is what makes this hurt even more) 

“Ben,” she murmurs. “I—” 

“I don’t want to talk to you right now, Devi,” he mutters. “Can you please just leave me alone?” 

He doesn’t snap at her, which she thinks makes this all the more worse. He just sounds  _ tired, _ and she knows she made him feel that way. 

Devi swallows down the hurt she feels, the hurt that makes her want to lash out at him, and doesn’t say anything. 

“Ok,” she chokes out. 

But it’s not something she was ever made to do, leave things alone. And by the time she gets home, that day, she needs to talk to him, to make up for what she did. 

So, she heads over to his place. 

Devi rings the doorbell, more nervous for this than she ever was on her date, more nervous about this than she has been about most things. 

(because she has something to lose, really, truly, lose, this time, something that she doesn’t know she can survive losing) 

Ben opens the door a moment later, and sighs heavily at the sight of her. “Devi, I—” 

“Wait,” she says, holding her hands up. “Ben, wait, please, listen to me.” 

She doesn’t expect him to, but he stops closing the door. His knuckles pulse white as he grips it, body half hidden behind it. “What do you have to say?” he bites out. 

“You were right,” she breathes. 

Ben stares at her, and she’s never seen his eyes so cold, so much like chips of ice. 

“I—you were right,” she stammers. “You were right, I didn’t enjoy myself on the date with him.” 

He’s silent, eyes flickering over her face. 

“And I’ve—I’ve been having these dreams and I just—” 

Ben wraps his hand around her wrist and tugs her into the house, silently. For once in her life, she doesn’t fight him. 

“Ben, I—” 

“You used me,” he says, quietly. 

Devi breathes out. “I’m so sorry.” 

He looks away from her, jaw tightening. “You don’t ever seem like you want this.” 

She reaches a hand up and cups his jaw, turning his face back to her. “I do,” she whispers. “I don’t want it with anyone else.” 

“I don’t understand why you’re like this, Devi. Hot and cold.” 

(she doesn’t either. she wants to spend all the time in the world she can with him, but there is some part of her, some deep, broken part of her that shattered when her father died that she’s not sure how to piece back together, a broken part of her that keeps her from really ever letting herself be with him) 

“I was confused,” she whispers. “I—thought that going on the date would help me figure out what I wanted. Strangely, it did that, at least.” 

“What do you want?” 

“You.” 

Ben quirks an eyebrow. “Really?” 

She nods. 

He pulls then, tugging on her wrist gently, and she goes, follows him down the hallway to his room. She expects him to push her down on the bed and reminds her why she wants him, she expects that, so she’s surprised when he shoves her up against the desk, and his hands descend on her waist, tugging her closer to him. 

Her legs wrap around his hips instinctively, but when she tries to put her hands on his shoulders, he shoves them off, placing them down on the edge of the desk. “Don’t touch me,” he says. 

Normally, Devi wouldn’t listen to him, would do whatever she wanted, but she’s well aware she’s pushed Ben beyond the breaking point, that she can’t push him any more. 

“Ben,” she gasps. 

“You said you want me, Devi?” he hums. 

He dances his fingers across her collarbone, and goosebumps appear in the wake of his touch. He stares at them, skating his fingers across the plane of her skin across to the nape of her neck, wrapping his fingers around the zipper of her desk and tugging it down slightly. 

Everything he does is carefully calculated, methodical. It’s precise, and it makes her heart hammer in her chest. 

“I do want you,” she groans. 

Ben tugs the dress off of her body, leaving her in her underwear and bra, smoothing his hands over her skin. Seeing him like this, mapping every inch of her, his gaze on her, it makes her feel more naked than if she was  _ actually _ naked. 

He drags his fingers down the curve of her spine, and she arches forward, mouth parting as she sucks in a breath, so sharp it hurts her lungs. “I do.” 

His gaze darkens, and he hooks his thumbs around the straps of her bra, pulling them off her shoulders and letting them hang down her arms, though he doesn’t take it off. 

“Prove it.” 

Devi stares at him, chest heaving, fingers gripping the desk so tight it  _ hurts. _ His eyes rake over every inch of her, and she wants to pass out, wants to collapse from the sheer weight of his eyes on her.

It’s more than feral, more than hungry and wanting, more than dark. It’s not even predatory, the way he looks at her. 

It’s consuming, captivating, rapturous. He looks at her like he could have her here, forever. Like there is not enough time in the world to take her in, to devour her. And it’s addictive. She wants to bask in his gaze forever. Blue eyes have always looked like the sea, and she is caught in his riptide. 

“Ho—how?” she stutters out. 

Ben’s hand comes up and smoothes over the plane of her stomach, before sliding down her side to run over her leg, over and over again. He curls his hands around her thighs—and his hands are so much larger than she thought, nearly wrapping around the circle of her thigh easily—pulling her closer and tightening her legs around his waist. 

She wishes he were undressed, at least a little bit, to help ease the burden of his gaze on her. 

He leans forward, drags his teeth, slowly, ever so slowly, down the line of her neck, and she whimpers, her entire body aching for him. 

She nearly explodes when his hands slide around to press into the small of her back, and he raises his eyes, pupils blown wide, to look at her. Ben leans forward, pressing his forehead against hers, a startling act of intimacy at odds with the destruction he is wrecking on her body. His eyes bore into hers, right into her souls. 

“Beg for it,” he growls. 

Devi’s mouth drops open. “You—what?” she chokes out. 

“You know what I said. Beg for it,” he repeats. 

He leans, bites on the curve of her neck. “I want to hear you say it. How much you want me.” 

“Ben, I—” 

She hasn’t ever really  _ begged _ him, begged for his touch on her skin. She’s craved it, but Devi’s got a lot of pride, has got enough strength to not beg him for it. It’s not in her nature to be submissive, to submit to the pull the tide. 

“Do it,” he murmurs. 

“No,” she protests. “I won’t beg you for it.” 

His eyes flash almost dangerously. “You won’t?” 

“I’ll prove it in another way,” she says. “I will.” 

“I don’t want you to.” 

He leans in and kisses the hollow of her throat, and she tries to breathe in, tries to think. “Oh my god,” she sighs, tilting her head back to give him better access to her neck. 

“I want you to beg me.” 

Ben sinks his teeth into the curve of her shoulder, hand coming up to tug at her bra,  _ hard. _

Her eyes fly open at the sound of ripping fabric, and she groans. “Ben, what the  _ fuck?” _

“Do you want to beg for it now?” he asks, pulling the fabric off her body. 

“That—that was one of my nice bras,” she bites out. “You asshole.” 

“I’ll buy you a new one,” he murmurs. His teeth nip at her neck, tongue flicking out to soothe her bitten skin, and her eyes roll in the back of her head. 

“Fuck, Ben,” she groans. “I want you to touch me.” 

“And I want you to beg for it. Looks like we’re at an impasse.” 

“I—” 

“Come on, Devi,” he murmurs, dragging his fingers over her breast. She bites back a shameless cry, swallowing it with difficulty. “Aren’t you going to give me what I want?” 

She smirks at him. “Are you going to beg me to beg  _ you?” _

His eyes flash. “No. I’m going to make you want to beg me.” 

Ben leans down and kisses her collarbone, pressing kisses along the length of it, from her shoulder to her neck, and it’s impossibly hard not to touch him, to keep her hands on the desk.

“Do you want to know something, Devi?” he whispers, lips brushing her skin as his hands map out her body, touching every single inch of skin he can reach. 

“What?” she murmurs. 

“You’re just delaying your own satisfaction right now,” he says, pressing kisses to her stomach as he drops to the floor. Her knees shake, next to his ears, and she looks down her body into his eyes to try and ground herself. “I know what I want to do to you.” 

“Then get on it,” she bites out. 

“No.” Ben hooks his thumbs around her underwear and drags them down her legs, before rising back up to look at her. He’s fully dressed and she’s completely naked and she feels  _ exposed,  _ in more ways than one. 

“You tried to get me to fuck you before you went on a date with someone else. I won’t fuck you until I know you want just me.” He leans it, sucking at her jaw, light and delicate, almost. 

“Fuck,” she groans. “Why are you doing this?” 

“We’ve been sleeping together for almost six months, Devi. You know I make you feel good. I know that. But I want you desperate for me.” 

His hand slips down her body and brushes over her clit, just once, but it’s enough to send shockwaves radiating through her systems. “I want you to beg for it. For what I do to you.” He brushes over her core again, and her control only slips for half a second, but that’s all she needs. 

“Please,” she whimpers, unable to bite the word back. “God, Ben, please.” 

His touch turns a bit firmer then, his mouth a bit rougher on her neck, and it’s both gratifying and tortuous. “Ben, come on,” she breathes. “I did what you asked.” 

“Not nearly enough,” he murmurs. “You know me better than that, Devi. I don’t settle for half-measures. You can do better. I know you can.” 

Ben’s hand drags down her body, and he rubs at her clit, slowly, lazily, and Devi bucks against him. “Go—go harder,” she whimpers. “Go harder.” 

“Ask properly and I will.” His voice is a rumble in her ear and she can barely breathe. It wraps around her lungs, dark and thick, and steals away her oxygen. “Come on, Devi.” 

“God, Ben, please,” she sobs. “I need you to go harder. Please, please.” 

“Better,” he says, complying. Devi moans as colors swirl and flash before her eyes, a kaleidoscope of sensations ripping through her body. 

“More,” she pleads. “I need—need more.” 

He tilts his head, calculating. “Do you?” 

“You—you know I do.” 

Ben kisses her throat, up and down, and she closes her eyes, hair spilling over her shoulder as she tilts her head. She doesn’t want to give him it but—she doesn’t know how long she can take it, these light, almost teasing touches that work her up. She needs it so bad, needs it badly. “Please, Ben. More, please.” 

Ben smirks against her neck and slips two fingers inside of her, and she gasps, eyes fluttering open. “Oh,” she cries. “Finally.” 

“Good girl, Devi,” he praises, and fuck, it turns her on even  _ more, _ punching a sob from her chest. 

“Ben,” she cries, digging her nails into the desk. “Oh, god.” 

He rubs at her a bit harder, passing over that perfect spot inside of her, working her up, the heat spreading like warm ambrosia in her veins, as thick as honey. 

“You like that, don’t you? Me telling you when you do good?” 

The word acts like a fucking cataclyst, and then she’s fluttering around his fingers, coming harder than she has in a long time. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, Ben,” she sobs. “I can’t—god.” She tosses her head back, focusing all her energy on not collapsing off the desk. 

When she finally comes back to herself, she blinks up at him, hazily. “It—it’s do well,” she corrects, chest heaving. 

“What?” 

“You sa—said do good. It’s do well.” 

Ben raises his eyebrows, smirking at her. “Really?” He learns in, trailing his lips down the center of her chest. “Interesting,” he murmurs. 

As he moves down, his hands wrap around her waist and tug her closer. “You don’t think you ever do good?”

Devi lets a choked moan slip from her throat when Ben flicks his tongue over her clit, nails digging into his desk. “I th—think I always do  _ well, _ Gross.” 

Ben nips at her thigh, smirking. “You do ok. Occasionally.” 

Whatever retort she has to say dies on her lips when he licks into her, certain and steady. 

“Fuck,” she says, instead, squeezing her eyes shut. “Fuck, oh my god,” she pants. She’s trying so hard to keep her hands on the desk, trying so hard to avoid the urge to touch him. 

“Guess I just found out a way to get you to finally shut up,” he murmurs, lips ghosting against her, and she moves her knee slightly to knock him in the head with it. 

“Fucking prick,” she groans. 

“Now, that’s not very nice, is it?” he murmurs. “Can’t you think of something else to call me?” 

“I’m—oh my god,” she whimpers, when he flattens his tongue against her. “Ben, go—more,” she says. 

She keens when he presses his tongue against her, firmer, and she bucks into him, desperate from something some more. “I need it,” she whimpers.

“Magic words, Devi.” 

She’s not going to deny him this time. Devi has—she’s hurt him, she knows that, and so she’s not going to deny him what he wants. 

“Please, Ben. Let me—let me touch you,  _ please.” _

Ben pulls away from her and he looks utterly wrecked, which is so unfair because  _ she’s _ the one who’s supposed to be razed, and yet, he looks just as destroyed as her. 

(storms tear themselves apart as well. the further a hurricane goes inland, the more buildings and monuments and libraries it ruins, it sabotages itself as well, and right now, locking eyes with him as he kneels in front of her, devi thinks it is like that, that he is a hurricane, hell-bent on ravaging her, even if it ends him) 

“You—you want to touch me?” he repeats. 

Devi nods. “Your hair,” she says. 

Unexpectedly, Ben’s head dips back down and he runs his tongue over her, exactly once. “Beg for it again,” he commands. “And then maybe I’ll let you.” 

“Fuck,” she swears, a symphony of color flashing behind her eyes, like she’s suddenly been placed in the middle of an orchestra and blessed with the power of synesthesia. “Fuck, Ben, please. Please let me touch you, please.” 

Ben hums against her, tongue swirling in a devastating pattern, before he says, “go ahead.” 

Devi lifts her hands off the desk and runs them through his hair, tugging on it, and fuck, it’s grounding and freeing all at the same time. “Ben, please, I need you to go harder. Please, fuck, please, I’m so close, Ben, come on.” 

She twists her hands into his hair harder when he complies, her thighs shaking around his ears, and pants brokenly into the air. 

“Close,” she please. “Getting—getting close.” It should be obscene, him going down on her on his fucking  _ desk, _ it should be ridiculous, but frankly, they’ve done worse in worse places and right now Devi can’t think about anything other than chasing that high. 

Devi moans as he gets her closer, pushing her towards the edge, and her fingers hurt from digging into his hair and her back aches from arching it for so long, but pain and pleasure have always mingled with her. It isn’t vicious, the pain, just a sharp bite to stop the edge from dulling. 

But suddenly, it’s not enough for her.

“Ben, Ben, stop,” she says. 

He listens instantly, and even though she nearly asks him to start again because she is so close, she wants him even closer to her more. 

“I—I need you,” she breathes. “Need you to fu—fuck me. Please, Ben.” She opens her eyes and looks right into his, tugging him up on his feet. 

She reaches down, curling her hands around the hem of his shirt and pulling it off, smoothing her hand down his chest. “Ben, please.” 

He stares at her, eyes wide. Reaching a hand out, Ben runs his thumb over her cheek. “Ok, Devi,” he murmurs. “Ok.” 

He disappears to grab protection from his bathroom and reappears, and this time, she relishes in touching him, the muscles of his shoulders, the way his heart hammers away underneath her palm, tugging him closer to her. 

When Ben finally pushes into her she nearly combusts. The angle is so good, a little rougher and harder than normal, and she buries her face into his neck to try and collect herself for a moment so she doesn’t fall apart right then and there.

“Ben,” she whispers. “Ben, I’m so sorry.” 

He pulls out and shallowly thrusts back into her, more of a gentle push than anything, but it still makes her nails dig into his palm, her eyes struggling to stay open. She wants to look at him. “What are you sorry for, Devi?” he murmurs, hands tightening on her hips. 

“For going on a date with someone else,” she moans, turning into a sob when Ben thrusts into her again. “Fuck, for making you think I didn’t want you, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Ben.” 

“It’s ok, Devi, it’s ok.” 

“No,” she cries, into his neck. He keeps driving into her and it feels like magma is spreading throughout her body, hot, unbearably hot. She can hardly stand it, and when his hand slides down her side to curl around her thigh—fucking hands his goddamn fucking  _ hands _ —hitching her leg up higher, to let him drive in a little deeper, it rips something out of her. 

“I shouldn’t have stopped this,” she whimpers. “I’m so sorry I—I did that, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she chants, into his skin. 

“Devi, it’s ok, it’s ok. It’s not your fault, you don’t have to apologize.” 

“Please, Ben,” she whimpers. “I shouldn’t be asking but—more, please.” 

(mark my skin with your teeth and leave bruises on my hips with your fingers, make me yours and remind me of that everyday; i don’t ever want to forget it, please, please, please, she thinks)

He snaps his hips into hers harder, free hand coming up to flick over her clit, and she’s so close, ecstasy thrumming through her veins. “You can ask me for anything you want, Devi.” 

“You,” she answers, instantly. “You, I want you,  _ please, _ Ben.” 

Devi digs her nails into his back, scrabbling, trying to find something to hold onto, nails raking over his skin so hard it has to be painful, but Ben never gives up, driving into her just shy of brutal. 

“Come for me, Devi. Come on.” 

She snaps, gasping, shaking around him. It’s almost vicious, the way she breaks, whimpering his name into his skin. 

(she is sorry, so, so sorry, for everything, for sophomore year and friday and everything, she’s so sorry. sometimes it seems like all she was made to do was hurt people, and ben is the one who always lets her. she hates herself for it) 

“Ben,” she murmurs. “Please, come for me. Come on, Ben.” 

He breaks, gasping into her neck, and she clutches him closer to her. 

(after this, she doesn’t think she’ll ever be able to let him go) 

Devi traces lines on his back, words and letters and once, her name, pleased to see the red scratches that mark it from her touch. Hers, hers, hers. He’s  _ hers. _

She turns her face into his neck and presses kisses, trying to say, without words, everything she feels, trying to let him know how sorry she is. “Forgive me,” she murmurs. “I did use you. I did treat you like you were disposable. I’m sorry, Ben.” 

Ben pulls back from her, scoring his fingers across her cheek gently. “You don’t have to apologize, Devi,” he murmurs. “I was wrong for treating you like that. I shouldn’t have been so upset. You have free will to do what you want.” 

She shakes her head. “I—tried to fuck you in a supply closet and then go on a date with another guy. I was wrong.” 

He laughs. “I left you hanging in the supply closet. I did plenty wrong.” 

She reaches up and smoothes his brow out with her thumb. “No you didn’t,” she whispers. 

“I did,” he murmurs. Ben grips her tighter. “We both did.” 

“It was mostly me,” she murmurs, and then presses her fingers to his mouth when he opens it to protest. “Let me say sorry, Ben.” 

Devi leans forward and touches her forehead to his, letting her eyes flutter shut. She feels like she can breathe again, like everything is a little better. It’s easier. It’s not quite good, but it’s  _ better. _

(malibu still lurks in the back of her mind, like a virus she can’t get rid of) 

Ben’s thumb runs over her cheek, his other hand running up and down her back, and Devi sighs, every pass of his hand on her skin drawing tension out of her body, soothing her, down the very depths of her soul, warming her. 

Sandalwood and jasmine, she smells, as she inhales to calm herself, and it splits something open in her, like a geode. 

Oh,  _ no. _ Devi’s felt this before. She’s felt this stirring in her gut, these emotions in her, two years ago. 

(the kaleidoscope of butterflies and the wave of emotion, the ocean contained in his eyes and a smile like the curve of a crescent moon) 

She’s got feelings for him, doesn’t she? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> your comments and kudos make me happier than kamala conducting her research!! come talk to me about the show! you can find me on tumblr: @[parkersedith](https://parkersedith.tumblr.com)


	12. act xii: have my back, yeah, everyday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _(that smile that always makes her body feel flush with heat, that stops her heart straight in its tracks, that propels it into insane free fall, that tempts her heart defy the forces of gravity and everything that she knows is anatomically possible and flip in her chest. his smile drowns everything out, and when he smiles at her like that she knows she would do anything for him—stand in the middle of a field in a lightning storm, throw herself into oncoming traffic, fight off a tornado. when he smiles at her like that she feels like she can do anything in the world—as long as he never stops)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is brought to you by cori's rain escapades and leila's adventures in cooking eggplant
> 
> hey guys! i had this chapter fully written and edited to be posted yesterday, but family stuff got in the way. oh well! this is probably the last most like a "filler" chapter in the whole fic, as we really start getting into the emotional meat of the story in the last 4 chapters. i hope you guys like this, regardless! 
> 
> this fic really said "eleanor wong is the best" and like, well, i stand by that
> 
> as always, thanks to leila for the science, even tho i only used it for like, two lines this time ❤️
> 
> (chapter title from “it’s nice to have a friend” by taylor swift)
> 
> ok, thank you guys so much!!! enjoy!!

He wants to ask her to prom. 

The second the thought flashes in his head, he rejects it. 

Asking Devi to prom is  _ such _ an overstatement of every single boundary they have put up, so much so it’s to the point where it almost circles around to being back  _ within _ the lines they have drawn. 

Ben sighs, running his hand down his face. 

(he always hopes reminding himself of this will help him, will ease the ache around his heart at the reminder that she doesn’t feel those things for him, but it doesn’t. he wonders if it ever will) 

The thing is, he thinks, as he flicks his pen over his fingers, bored out of his mind after finishing a quiz in calculus, is that he thought he was supposed to have built up some sort of immunity. 

Like one does to a poison, exposing themselves to small quantities at a time so their body develops a tolerance to it, a resistance to its effects, the havoc it wreaks. Or perhaps it is the exact opposite, simply that all this time spent with her has caused his body to build her up in his systems, and so, when the dam finally breaks, the devastation will be a thousand times worse. 

He resists the urge to look at her, to take her in, drink her slowly, because he can’t. They’ve only just patched things up a few weeks ago. 

It’s not healthy, waiting for her to realize that he’s not anything special, it’s definitely not healthy that he keeps waiting for her to leave, and he should probably invest in some therapy to fix that, but it’s just how it is, right now. 

The bell rings, and Ben grabs his things, heading to his locker to get a few more textbooks before he has to head home. 

“Benjamin,” Eleanor chirps, glossy black hair bouncing as she jumps up and down. “Do you wanna go to Plato’s today?” 

Ben groans, gently hitting his head against the locker door. “El, that’s like, the third time this week that you’ve dragged me to a thrift store.” 

“And you love it, Benjamin, so don’t even pretend,” she hums. 

“How do you even have time for this?” he snorts. “Isn’t the musical in like, two weeks?” 

Eleanor tosses her hair over her shoulder and smirks. “Today is Monday, Gross. We never have rehearsals on Mondays. Plus, I’m the lead, and so I need to dress up fabulously before opening night. Everything I have in my closet I’ve already worn, and I’m in  _ desperate _ need of some new clothing.” 

He raises an eyebrow as he scans her, critically, a smile playing at his lips. “El, you already have the most insane fashion sense of anyone in this school.” 

“Exactly, Ben,” she snaps, “which means people remember my clothes, so I can’t  _ dare _ to repeat outfits.” 

“Do you really think people will notice to that extent?” 

Eleanor grabs one of his textbooks out of his hands and smacks him over the head with it,  _ hard, _ which doesn’t even make sense, considering she’s actually tiny and the textbook is like, half her weight. 

“Ow, fuck, El!” Ben rubs at the back of his head. “I think you just gave me a concussion,” he groans. 

“You better hope not, Gross,” Eleanor snaps, dropping the textbook back into his locker, “because I need your opinion when we go to stores today.” 

Ben frowns, still rubbing at the back of his head. “I never know why you bring me along with you when you insult my sense of fashion like, every day.” 

Eleanor snorts, gaze roving over him much in the same way he did to her not just a moment ago. “You’ve gotten a bit better, but seriously, Ben, we know that that’s because of me. I just need you to carry all of my bags.” 

“Eleanor,” Ben groans. “I’m not your boyfriend.” 

“No, you’re just hung up on my best friend,” she points out, leaning against the locker and examining her nails—navy blue, and he smiles, because she’d always called it a boring color before he told her he liked it. 

Then, her words register, and the smile slips off his face. “Hung—hung up on her?” 

“You’re not very good at hiding it.” 

Ben tries to deflect. “Well, considering Fabiola is a lesbian, it would be pretty stupid for me to be hung up on her. It wouldn’t make any sense at all.” 

“Playing dumb literally only works with Devi, dickwad,” Eleanor bites back. “Come on. We all know you’re gone for her. You suck at hiding it.” 

Ben scowls at her. “You’re rude.” 

Eleanor’s gaze drops over his face, searching, and he feels exposed for a second. “Fine,” she murmurs. “I’ll drop it for now. But come on. Meet me at Plato’s in twenty?” She clasps her hands together. “Please, Ben. You owe me.” 

“For—for what?’ he splutters. 

Eleanor stops cold. “Uh,” she starts. “Fine. You don’t owe me, but I’ll owe you. Don’t make me go alone. A shy girl like me would never survive.” 

Ben snorts. “Right, because the girl playing Elphaba in  _ Wicked _ is so shy. I’m sure of that.” 

She smacks him on the arm. “Look, are you gonna come with me, or not?” 

(of course he’s gonna go with her. there’s no real point to this fight because ben always goes with her. he always goes where his friends need him, and with eleanor, he has so much fun, he’s always tempted to have an adventure with her) 

“Yeah,” he sighs, heavily. “I’ll meet you there.” 

Eleanor squeals and jumps up and down, clapping her hands, as if the answer he’s given her is unusual, instead of what they both knew he would say. “Yes! Thank you so much, Ben.” 

She leans in and gives him a one-armed hug, before dashing away, leaving him smiling after her. 

“Should I be jealous you seem to prefer my best friend over me?” Devi teases. 

He turns to face her and grins. “Are you?” 

Devi laughs, tossing her hair back and shutting her locker door. “No,” she snorts. “El would never go for a guy like you. You’re not her type.” 

He smirks. “Am I yours?” 

She rolls her eyes. “Right, cause my type is a short white guy with no sense of spice tolerance and a ridiculous car.” 

He steps a bit closer, pressing his hand against her arm. “I think it is.” 

Devi glances around them, and the hallway isn’t deserted, but they’re not close enough to garner a lot of suspicion. At least, he doesn’t think they are. 

“So,” she murmurs. “I’m assuming you won’t be free today?” 

He shakes his head. “I’ve got a lot of work to get done.” 

Devi groans, leaning against her locker. “I don’t understand why they keep giving us work. Like, it’s fucking March. Leave it alone,” she whines. “I don’t want to do anything.” 

He shrugs his backpack over his shoulder. “You and me both,” he sighs. He glances at his watch. “Look, I’ve got to get going if I want to meet El in time, but I’ll see you later, ok?” 

She nods, lifting his hand off of her arm, but not before giving his hand a squeeze. “Sounds cool. Try not to bore her to death, ok?” she smirks, her eyes sparkling. “She’s my best friend and I don’t want to lose her.” 

He rolls his eyes, smiling. “I swear to do my very best,” he says, mockingly solemn. 

“Thank you.” She squeezes his hand once more before letting it go, and he wants to kiss her, so badly, wants to trace the line of her jaw with his fingers and tip her head up to fit her lips against his, to breathe her in. 

(he wants to drown himself in her, in everything she is. he wants to lose himself in her, but he doesn’t want to  _ lose _ himself. he has to keep sight of the situation, to remember where they are. for both of their sakes) 

“See you later,” he murmurs. 

The words are on the tip of his tongue, the words that say  _ go to prom with me? _ The words that he really wants to say, that he desperately wants to set free. He wants to sweep her into his arms and hold her close and never, ever let her go. 

Devi smiles back. “See you later.” 

He lets her go first, as he walks away, because he needs to start getting used to that. Needs to start getting used to letting her go again. 

The problem is that he’s gotten too soft, that he thinks she’s going to stay with him, and in a weird way, the date had been a reminder that she’s  _ not. _ She’s not going to stay with him like that, so he needs to stop himself from getting too hurt. 

(it’s an exercise in futility) 

Ben tosses his backpack in the back of his car and starts the engine, pulling out of the parking lot to head to the thrift store. Unsurprisingly, he beats Eleanor there, and he sits back in his car seat, tapping through his phone while he waits for her. 

Soon, though, her beat up little Volvo pulls into the space next to him, and Ben hops out of the car, tucking his phone into his jeans. 

Eleanor clambers out of the car, bangles jangling as she shuts her door, glancing over at Ben. “Sorry for being late, Benjamin,” she huffs. “Traffic was terrible.” 

Ben smirks. “Really?” 

“Fine,” she grumbles. “The drive-thru at the Starbucks was terrible. Happy?” 

“Actually, coffee is most effective when it’s consumed between 9 and 10 am, did you know that?” 

Eleanor flips him off, coming around the car to shove a cup into his hands. “You know, I thought you might not be a dick, so I got you some.” 

Ben furrows his eyebrows. “You know I don’t drink coffee.” 

“It’s green tea, you fucking hipster,” she snorts, sipping her macchiato. 

“This is coming from the girl who dresses like she’s on an acid trip?” 

Eleanor kicks him. “You’re such an asshole,” she groans. 

“You’re the one who decided to be friends with me,” he points out, trying to bite back a smug smile. “I mean, that’s a lack of judgement on your part,” he laughs. 

Eleanor shoves the door open with her shoulder, flouncing immediately to the dresses. “A lack of judgement. Please, Benjamin. You can’t believe that I let myself be swayed by a lack of judgement. That’s insulting to the both of us.” 

She pulls a skirt off the rack and drops it into Ben’s arms, and he steps after her, used to this by now. “I need a few more outfits for this week,” she quips, her mouth dipped into a dramatic pout. “Plus, I need to buy shoes for my prom dress.” 

“Did you get your dress?” 

She hums, shaking her head. “Not yet, but I know which one I’m buying.” 

Eleanor tugs off about five dresses off the shelf and drops them into his arms, and he lets out a grunt at the sudden weight. “Are you trying to buy enough clothes to last you through the apocalypse, El?” he groans. 

“Dear lord, Benjamin, were you raised in a barn? You never insult a woman’s shopping habits.” 

“You’re gonna go broke buying all of this, you know,” he says. 

Eleanor waves her hand. “No, I won’t. This place is a thrift store and I shop here often enough that I have plenty of store credit built up.” 

Ben rolls his eyes. “You’re literally buying out the whole store for a supposed week of outfits.” 

“I keep telling you, Benjamin. I need something vivacious. I’m the  _ lead. _ You don’t get that without being a stand-out.” 

Ben scoffs, barely able to see Eleanor over the growing stack of clothes in his arms. “You don’t need clothes to be a stand out, Eleanor. You do just fine on your own.” 

Eleanor flushes, a bit red. “Stop being nice to me just so you can get out of carrying the clothes.” 

He smiles sheepishly, a bit ashamed at having been caught so blatantly and easily. “You know I still mean it, though.” 

Planting her hands on her hips, she tosses a wink at him. “Don’t be so scared, Benjamin. You’re not driving me off.” 

(isn’t he? his whole life has been a waiting game of leaving. everyone has left him, and sometimes, he thinks it’s fucked up that he doesn’t know how to do anything but wait for the new people in his life to leave) 

But he doesn’t say any of this, simply grins at her. “Shit. Should I try harder, then?” 

She giggles, and the sound, strangely, reminds him of bells. With anyone else, Ben would think the laugh was purposeful, carefully curated and calculated to be adorable, but with Eleanor he knows that’s just exactly how she laughs, delicate and light and warm. 

“Please don’t,” she quips, dark eyes dancing with mirth. “I need someone to carry my clothes around for me.” 

He sighs, heavily. “Damn. So that’s all you want me for?”

“Why else?” 

Ben shakes his head, a rueful smile spreading over his face. “I see why you and Devi are friends.” 

She scowls at him, and then jerks her head towards the back of the store, where she spends at least two hours meticulously picking out clothes to place in his arms. He’s used to this, by now, and takes the opportunity to ask Eleanor about how musical rehearsals and her classes are going, chatting about certain teachers and listening to her complain about homework. 

Eleanor stops in front of the rack of shoes and tugs her lip into her mouth, chewing on it, contemplating the selection in front of her. “So,” she says, picking up a strappy black shoe with a heel that looks like it could kill a man. “Are you gonna ask Devi to prom?”

Ben chokes on air. ‘What the fuck?” 

She daintily tucks her hair behind her ear as she pulls another black heel out, this time a chunkier heeled one. “You know what I said. Let’s not play this game.” 

He gapes at her. “El, you know it’s—it’s not like that between us.” 

She snorts. “First of all, don’t bother lying to me. Secondly, it’s the 21st fucking century. What kind of  _ Grease-esque _ hellholle were you raised in? You can ask her to prom as friends, you know.” 

Ben rubs the back of his neck. “That’s a—fair point,” he admits. 

(but doesn’t that blur the lines too much? doesn’t that make this too emotional for them? he doesn’t know if he can handle it, if he can handle the things it might stir up in him) 

Eleanor’s gaze softens, and she steps towards him, placing a hand on his arm. “Ben,” she says, quietly. “This is senior prom. This is the only night you’re gonna get like this. You don’t want to throw that away, do you? Come on. Who do you want to spend prom night with?” 

“You guys,” he says, instantly. 

“So then,” she murmurs. “Why don’t you ask her?” 

Ben drops her clothes on the counter and steps back, letting Eleanor place her heels next to the stack and pull out her wallet. “You think I should?” 

“Yes.”

He stuffs his hands into his jean pockets, hoping they don’t shake. “You really think it’s a good idea?” 

She glances over at him as she waits for the cashier to finish scanning her clothes. “I think you’ll regret it if you don’t.” 

“But what if—if she thinks I’m trying to make more out of this than what this is?” 

Eleanor hands her credit card over and spins around, leaning against the counter with her arms crossed. “First of all, you are, because we all know you’re in love with Devi, except, well, Devi, so don’t even try to deny it. Second, Ben, what are you so scared of?” 

(her running away from him, and him losing her forever, because that is what devi does when things are pushed, that is what she does when she is confronted with someone as intense as this, she runs, and he’s wondering if this time, he won’t follow)

“I don’t know.” 

By the way Eleanor purses her lips and eyes him, he can tell she’s not convinced at all, but she nods, accepting the card back and grabbing her bags. “Well, Ben,” she murmurs. “There’s nothing wrong with trying, you know?”

He pushes open the door and holds it for her, and she tosses the bags in the back of her Volvo before looking back at him. “Trust me when I say you have to take the shot. Who else would she spend prom with anyways? It would still be us. At least this way you guys can go together.” 

He smiles, a touch bitter. “We’re not together, Eleanor.”

She looks at him, searching, and raises an eyebrow. “Don’t you want to be?” 

He doesn’t know how to verbalize an answer that, but he’s sure the answer is written all over his face, plain as day. 

“Putting yourself out there is hard, I know it is, but isn’t it worth the risk? Isn’t it worth it to see if she feels the same?” 

Ben chokes out a bitter, broken laugh, shaking his head before she’s even finished saying the words. “She doesn’t, El. I know she doesn’t. She didn’t back in sophomore year and she doesn’t now.” 

“I think you’re wrong, Ben.” 

“I can’t afford for me to even be a little wrong.” He leans back against his car and sighs. “Because then I lose her, and I can’t have that.” 

Eleanor frowns. “Look, Ben, you don’t have to propose, or anything. Just ask her to prom. Even if you decide to go just as friends.” 

“What if she says no?” he whispers. 

At this, Eleanor laughs, tossing her head back, a full body, bright laugh, and despite the nerves coiling up in his stomach, Ben feels a bit more at ease. 

“Oh, please, Ben,” she wheezes. She wipes away an imaginary tear at her eye. “You can’t possibly think she’ll say no.” 

“I don’t—what?” he says, utterly confused. 

Eleanor snorts, opening the door to her car. “Don’t be an idiot, Ben. Ask her to prom. I guarantee she’ll say yes.” 

With that, she trills her fingers at him in a wave. “Ta-ta, darling,” she breathes. “I’ll see you on opening night.” Eleanor winks and hops into her car, and Ben can only gape at her in shock as she pulls away, catching the faint strains of “No Good Deed” blaring from her car speakers. 

He’s left behind in the parking lot, staring after her, before he huffs a laugh to himself and gets in his own car, headed home. 

* * *

Eleanor’s words are the only thing running through his mind for the next few days, as he goes to class and does his homework and hangs out with Devi, as Eleanor gets increasingly wrapped up in the musical and has less and less time to spend with them. 

He wonders how to ask her. He wonders  _ if _ to ask her, despite everything Eleanor had said, because there’s still some part of him that doesn’t think it’s the right thing to do, the best thing to do. 

Part of him wants to give her a huge gesture, the kind he always catches her watching that she claims to hate but secretly enjoys, the stupidly sappy gestures that involve ridiculous amounts of confetti and music and flowers and the whole nine yards. But part of him knows he can’t do that because first of all, they’re not even dating, so that’s way out of the question. But he also doesn’t want her to feel pressured to say yes. He wants her to go with him because  _ she _ wants to, not because  _ he _ wants to. 

It drives him insane, for a few days, the indecision on whether or not to ask her, and then how to ask her if he decides he will. It’s mind boggling. 

He hides it from her fairly well, he thinks, but when he finally  _ does _ slip up, it’s a bit embarrassing. 

It happens, as it always does, in his room. 

Devi’s on her laptop, running through a presentation for bio, sitting on his bed, and the sight of her there, even though he’s seen it a million times at this point, never fails to make his heart race in his chest. 

(he’s the only one who gets to see her like this, heavy limbs and relaxed smiles, satiated and happy and content, and it’s something he’s not sure he can let go when the time comes. he has to, though. he never wants to keep her here unless she wants to be here. every time that he remembers their relationship—arrangement, situation, agreement—has an expiry date, the noose around his heart tightens, just a little)

“Hey,” he murmurs. 

She doesn’t take her eyes from the screen. “Hey. What’s up, Gross?” 

Ben leans forward and presses his lips against her shoulder, not so much a kiss as simply the touch of his lips against her skin. 

“What are you doing?” he whispers. 

Devi bites back a grin, still not looking at him. She stretches her neck, laughing when his fingers skim against her back. “You know what I’m doing, you idiot. I’ve got this presentation for bio to finish.” 

“Right.” He pulls her a bit back, closer to him, watching her shake her head, rolling her eyes. “Wanna tell me about it?” 

She laughs. “Are you seriously asking me to give you a biology presentation right now?” 

He props his chin on her shoulder, watching her scroll through the presentation. “Uh, I guess so.” 

She pats his cheek mockingly. “Come on, Ben. You don’t want to hear about hemophilia. Anyways, how’s your presentation on cystic fibrosis coming along?” 

He groans at the reminder. “Don’t remind me, please.” 

She quirks an eyebrow, biting back a smile. “Ben, have you even started?” 

“Of course I’ve started,” he defends himself. She simply tilts her head, the question still swimming in her eyes. “Fine,” he says, amending his statement. “I’ve placed my notes next to my laptop and I’ve titled the presentation.” 

“Ben,” Devi says. “You need to start.” 

He presses kisses up the line of her neck and slides his hand around, pressing against her abdomen, tugging her back towards him. “Nah,” he breathes. 

“Stop trying to distract me,” she laughs.

“You never say that unless it’s working,” he hums. 

Devi grabs a pillow with one hand and smacks him lightly in the head with it. “Let me do this, and you do your work. Come on, get your laptop. We’ll suffer together.” 

He draws back, grinning at her. “Aww, David, you make my heart bleed.” 

“Right, cause I’m so nice to you all the time,” she laughs. Devi pats his chest. “Go on, Gross. Get your work.” 

He doesn’t want to, but he grabs his work and settles himself next to her, opening his laptop and navigating to his presentation. 

Devi, nosy thing she is, glances over at his screen when he pulls the Google Slides up, wrinkling her nose at the sight. “I thought you said you hadn’t started.” 

“It’s a work in progress.” 

She snorts. “I hope so.” She jabs a finger at his laptop screen. “Look at this font. It’s horrible.” 

Ben turns to her and snorts, a little incredulous. “You’re insulting my choice of font right now?” 

“It’s fucking Calibri!” she shouts, throwing her hands up in the air. “You have no sense of style—well, we already knew that from your fashion sense—if you think you’re going to be giving a presentation in class with fucking  _ Calibri _ as your font.” 

“I think the content of the presentation is much more important than the font it’s in,” he says, dryly. 

Devi rolls her eyes. “You’re not fucking serious,” she sighs. “Ben, you’re not writing an essay on the screen. You’re using like, three or four bullet points. You should have twenty words, max, on your presentation slides. It’s important to have a distinguished font.” 

He leans back against his pillows, rubbing at his eyes. “I can’t believe you’re criticizing me on my choice of font.” 

“I criticize you on everything, Gross,” she quips. “Why is this surprising to you?” 

Ben laughs, dropping his hands from his face. “Just because it’s utterly ridiculous.” 

Devi playfully raises her eyebrow. “Are you calling me ridiculous, Gross?” 

He grins. “Maybe I am.” 

She crosses her arms over her chest, sheets pulling taut across her body. “You’re so mean to me, Ben,” she pouts. 

He bites back his own smile now. “Am I?” 

“Yeah,” she insists. “I don’t know why you’re so hell-bent on being mean to me. I don’t like it.” She bats her lashes at him, dramatically frowning. 

“I’m sorry, David,” he drawls. “I didn’t know you were so sensitive.” 

“Asshole.” She smacks him in the chest with the back of her hand, but she’s grinning. “Maybe I should go spend time with Eleanor and Fabiola. You know, someone who’s nicer to me.” 

He snorts at that. “Please. You don’t like spending time with people who are excessively nice. It’s too boring for you.” 

“Excuse me, maybe I just need someone to treat me with the respect and kindness that I deserve.” 

He rolls his eyes. “You’re so dramatic, David.” 

“Wow, you’re really being so mean to me today?” 

“Sorry, Devi.” He props his chin up on his hand, struggling to keep the laughter bubbling up from his lungs. “How can I make it up to you?” 

Devi taps her finger against her chin, contemplating an answer as her eyes sparkle with joy. “Oh, I don’t know.” 

She grabs his laptop and shoves it off his knees, shoving hers to the side as well, climbing into his lap. He slides his hands up her back, watching as she settles her hands on his shoulders, grinning down at him. “Do you have any ideas?” 

Ben laughs. “You’re insatiable, you know that, right?” 

Devi grins, shifting so she can wrap her legs around his waist. “You’re a guy, so I know you like it, Gross.” 

“Are you sure of that?” 

She ducks her head down and kisses him, one hand cupping the back of his neck to tilt his head up so that she can kiss him better. 

(god, having her here right now makes him feel like he can do anything, like he can climb mountains and fight off hurricanes with his bare hands, like he can conquer the world. whenever she is right here, in his bed and his arms, whenever she is kissing him, it is the best place for him to be, because he can’t imagine anything better. 

(he can, and that’s if he knows she’s here because she loves him) 

he’s never getting that, though, so he’s going to take what he can get) 

Ben pulls back from her first, thumb scoring across her cheek. “I take it you’re not so disgusted by my font choice now that you’re kissing me?” he breathes. 

Devi rolls her eyes. “Don’t get your hopes up.” 

“Hmm,” he hums, tilting his head up to kiss her again. She tastes like cherries, as always, and smells like jasmine, and it’s so addictive he’s not sure he’ll ever get enough. 

She sighs into his mouth when he presses his fingers against her back, firm, pulling her closer. Kissing Devi is an adrenaline high and a comforting lull all at the same time, and it’s a juxtaposition that makes his head spin. 

She pulls away and flexes her fingers, cupping his jaw. “Change your font,” she breathes. “Maybe then I can start to respect you.” 

He looks up at her, blinking, staring right into her eyes. She’s so beautiful it makes his heart hurt. 

(he reaches up, and traces the curve of her lip with his fingertips, maps out the slope of her nose and brushes his knuckles against the arch of her cheek, memorizes her and burns her into his hands. muscle memory, it is called. the heart is a muscle, and his heart knows devi better than anything else)

“Are you saying there’s potential for me to gain your respect one day, David?” he murmurs. 

“Maybe,” she winks. “If you try hard enough.” 

“Wait, so you’re saying everything I’ve been doing for the past like—seven months, isn’t good enough?” 

“All I’m saying, Ben, is that you haven’t quite garnered my respect yet.” 

He pouts. “You know, you’re always saying I’m the one mean to you, but you’re plenty mean to me.” 

“Aww, I’m sorry, Ben,” she says, cloying and sweet, a touch maudlin, the voice she uses whenever she wants to be over dramatic and theatrical. Sometimes he wonders who’s the real drama queen of the girls—Eleanor or Devi. “Tell me how I can make it up to you.” 

“Can I suggest more than one way?” he says, cheekily. 

She smacks him. “I swear to god, you have a filthy mind.” 

“What can I say, Devi?” he laughs, wrapping his arms around her waist. “You just bring out that side of me.” 

“Was that meant to be insulting? Cause honestly, it just makes me sound like a prostitute,” she banters back. 

He freezes. “Oh shit, it does, doesn’t it?” 

She throws her head back and laughs, bright and clear and loud. “Oh god, you’re too easy to freak out, you know that?” 

“Well excuse me for trying to make sure you feel respected and not used.” 

“Aww, Ben.” she leans down and kisses his cheek, a smacking, dramatic kiss. “Don’t feel like you’re using me. If anything, we know I’m the one using you.” 

“Knew it,” he whispers, in victory. “Finally, got proof you only wanted me for my body.” 

“Well, it’s certainly not for those sparkling conversational skills you possess,” she giggles. 

Ben laughs himself, hands digging into her skin slightly, and he looks up at her as she laughs on top of him, eyes sparkling, bright and beautiful. 

(that is the reason he does what he does next. what, you can’t blame him. the prettiest girl in the world is currently here with him and laughing with him and he just wants to spend all the time in the world with her before it goes away, before what they have is nothing more than a painful memory he tucks away and saves in grecian urns like one saves sunlight) 

“Go to prom with me,” he blurts out. 

(in his haste, he leaves out the  _ as friends, _ and there will be consequences for this)

Devi freezes, on top of him, the smile slipping off her face so suddenly Ben wants to take the words back and burn them, pretend he never said them, if only to get the smile back, if only to get her laugh back. 

She swallows roughly, and her hands slide down his jaw, his neck, to rest on his shoulders. “What did you just say?” 

He ducks his head, unable to look her in the eyes. “Forget it,” he mutters, rubbing his thumb into her stomach, over and over again, as if that’ll soothe him. 

“Hey, hey, Ben,” Devi says. She tilts his head up, forcing him to look her in the eyes. “It’s ok. Ask me again,” she murmurs. 

Ben sucks in a deep breath, trying to steady himself, trying to steady his shaking hands. 

(he grips her body tighter and pulls her closer to him, and he does that only partially because he thinks if he holds her tight it might be able to help how his hands shake) 

“Devi,” he says quietly. “Will you go to prom with me?” 

She runs her thumb across his cheek, and his heart pounds in his chest, fast, like he is running a marathon. 

Devi always makes his heart race and stop, all in the span of a nanosecond. He’s not sure how good that is for his heart health, but he can’t be bothered. Not when it comes to her. 

“Yes,” she whispers. “I’ll go to prom with you.” 

He tries to bite back the smile that crosses his face, he really, really does. 

(ok, no, he doesn’t) 

But it splits his face wide open anyways. “Well,” he laughs. “That’s good, because I don’t know who else I would have asked if you had said no.” 

Devi rolls her eyes fondly. “Like you would have asked anyone else, Gross. Please, we all know you’re obsessed with me.” 

“Um, you do know you just said yes, right?” 

“Don’t make me regret it, you heathen.” 

“Heathen? Come on, David, you’ve got better insults in your arsenal than that,” he complains, enjoying the way her eyes narrow in challenge. 

“Rogue?” 

“Oooh,” he hums. “You find me roguish?” 

He can tell by the way her hand comes up to slap over her face that she regrets her words instantly. “Annoying,” she corrects, words muffled by the palm of her hand. “Bothersome. Vexatious.” 

“I like that last one,” he comments. “How long did it take you to come up with that?” 

“Shut up, you dick.” 

“I don’t know what to do with this information.” Ben wraps his hand around her wrist and tugs her hand away from her face, forcing her to look him in the eyes. “I mean, now that I know you find me roguish,” he grins, wagging his eyebrows. “What else? Rakish? Tempting? How about irresistible? I would also like to be thought of as—” 

“A giant pain in the ass?” 

“Again, so mean to me.” 

Devi sighs, carding her hands through his hair. “What am I going to do with you? And don’t say sex,” she hastens to add, seeing his mouth open for a suggestion. 

“I wasn’t going to say that, David,” he protests. 

“Please. You’re a guy. You might be smarter than everyone else at our school, but you’re still a guy,” she comments. 

A slow smirk spreads across his face. “So you admit I’m smarter than everyone else at that school?” 

She gives him a withering look, although it’s underscored by the gentle way her fingers smooth through his hair. “You know you’re smarter than everyone else. Besides me, of course,” she adds, almost habitually.

“Yeah, yeah,” he breathes. “You keep reminding me.” 

“Well, it’s an important thing to know,” she laughs. “It’s very important to me that you know I’m smarter than you.” 

“You wish.” Ben presses kisses up the line of her collarbone to her neck, scattering them across the length of her jaw, relishing in the soft sigh she lets out. 

“Ben, not now,” she murmurs. 

“What?” he counters, voice nothing more than a whisper. “I’m just sitting here. I’m not doing anything.” 

“You know very well you’re doing something, you asshole,” she mutters, but melts, pressing herself closer to him. 

“You don’t seem very keen on stopping me.” 

Devi groans, fingers digging into his shoulders when he nips, perhaps a bit hard, at the underside of her jaw. “Ben, if you keep distracting me like this, we’re going to fail senior year.” 

“I’m honored you think I have such an effect on you, David.” 

“That’s it,” she says, shoving him back and pushing herself off of him. “Come on, get to work.” 

He frowns. “Seriously?” 

“Yes, seriously. Dear god, Ben, what are you, five? We have work to get done.”

“Ugh.” He flops back on his pillows, staring up at the ceiling. “I don’t wanna.” 

“Do it, Gross. Come on, I’m gonna do mine now too.” 

He turns to look at her, pressing his cheek against the pillow. “Can we do something fun after?” 

She snorts, already opening her laptop. “Ok, you horndog. I’ll sleep with you after we do our homework.” 

“I was thinking more of a movie, but your idea works too.” 

She just shoves him to the side. “Don’t tempt me, Gross. I can still back out of being your prom date.” 

He snorts. “Right, and let any other guy at school take you? Cause that’s happening.” 

Devi rolls her eyes, but she doesn’t rebut her statement, simply nudging his laptop towards him with her foot. “Change your font from Calibri, and I’ll stay with you.” 

(he wishes that was all it took, changing a font and banter and buying her food, he wishes that was all it took for her to stay by his side and be with him, he wishes he wishes he wishes, and it hurts him that he knows it’s not) 

Ben ignores that, ignores the part of his heart that breaks and bleeds whenever he reminds himself that Devi will never love him like he loves her. 

Malibu is proof of that, anyways, proof that she was never capable of feeling things like that for him, and the way he had to pick himself up after sophomore year, when he had let Malibu get his hopes up, is something he never wants to do again. He can’t let her break him again. He won’t. 

Part of him is terrified he’s already past that point. 

He shoves that down and sticks his tongue out at her, opening his laptop and losing himself in his work, and ignoring the way he can still feel her touch linger on his skin even when she’s not touching him. 

* * *

Devi can’t believe that Ben asked her to prom. 

There’s a stupidly giddy smile on her face for the rest of the week whenever she thinks about it, the way he had asked her. 

Sure, Devi loves watching ridiculously over the top promposals on Youtube, but in all honesty, being given one of those kinds of proposals sounds a bit nerve wracking. 

She always feels like there must be a bit of pressure to say yes, and the way he had asked her was just—it was insanely perfect. 

Her heart flutters just thinking about it, and she can’t quite—quite believe that this happened. 

(she thought not to get her hopes up when it came to ben, when it came to the emotions she felt about him, the way her stomach twists and her heart skips a beat whenever she looks at him, as if she’s suddenly been afflicted with arrhythmia. but the fact that—that he’d asked her to prom, and he’d clearly meant to take her out romantically must be because of, of something he felt. maybe—maybe he had forgiven her for sophomore year and weirdly, for some—reason, decided to give her his heart again.

(she’s going to take care of it this time, protect it with her life, she swears it) 

and now that he’s asked her she’s still terrified but maybe all she needs is—is a little push, and she can see if prom is that push) 

Every time he looks at her now, all she can think about is how his eyes had shone while he asked her, the grin he had given her when she said yes. 

The thing is now that she’s acknowledged it, now that she’s accepted the reality that she feels something for him, that there are more than just friendly emotions swirling in her stomach, it’s almost like it’s getting harder and harder to shove down the urge to blurt something out. 

Whenever he makes her fall apart or looks into her eyes when they hookup, she has to physically bite down on her tongue to stop saying something. Even when they hang out together and he laughs at something she’s said, she has to stop herself. 

There’s a chance, though. A chance that wasn’t there before he asked her. 

Devi bites her lip as she smooths down the front of her dress, blue and cute and adorable. Is it a bit dressy? Yes, but it's the opening night of the musical, and she and Ben and Fabiola are all going together to see Eleanor kill it onstage, and she wants to support her friend and look pretty. 

Ben’s picking her up, and Fabiola’s going to meet them at the school, and she can’t wait. All she wants to do is spend all the time with her friends that she can before they leave high school. 

Her phone buzzes, and she picks up, seeing it’s a text from Ben that he’s waiting outside. Devi grabs her coat and heads down the stairs, poking her head into the kitchen to let her mom know she’s on her way out. 

She slips her shoes on and tucks her phone into her purse, heading out the door. Ben’s fiddling with the controls on his dashboard when she slides into the passenger seat. 

“Hey,” she greets. 

Ben looks up at her and smiles. 

(that smile that always makes her body feel flush with heat, that stops her heart straight in its tracks, that propels it into insane free fall, that tempts her heart defy the forces of gravity and everything that she knows is anatomically possible and flip in her chest. his smile drowns everything out, and when he smiles at her like that she knows she would do anything for him—stand in the middle of a field in a lightning storm, throw herself into oncoming traffic, fight off a tornado. when he smiles at her like that she feels like she can do anything in the world—as long as he never stops)

Everything about Ben is infectious, but not in the way diseases are. He’s infectious in the way smiles and laughter and happiness are. In the fact that she can’t help but be drawn into him. 

She smiles back. “So,” he smirks, settling back against his seat. “What did you get for her?” 

Devi raises an eyebrow and slides into the passenger seat of his car. “What do you mean?” 

“I mean, there’s no way you’re letting your best friend open as the lead in the musical without getting her something.” 

Devi smiles. “I pulled a few strings and sent her a few cupcakes for her dressing space. She deserves it.” 

Ben jerks his thumb towards the back of the car, and she twists to see a bouquet of lilies and a box of chocolates. “I wish I had gotten her more.” 

“Ben,” she laughs. “I’m sure she’ll appreciate anything you get her.” 

“Yeah,” he sighs, pulling away from the curb and heading towards the school. “I just wish I had found her something better.” 

She can’t help the warm feeling that spreads through her at this. He’s got such a stupidly big heart, and it’s one of the best things about him. 

Devi knows Ben cares about the people in his life, has known it ever since—since Malibu. The thought of that still makes a chill spread down her spine, but she can’t ignore it for much longer. She’s got to face it sooner rather than later. 

Malibu reminds her of something terrifying, and she’s not quite ready—not sure if she’ll ever be ready, to face that. 

“You’re stupid,” she says, pushing those thoughts out of her mind. 

“Wow,” he drawls, glancing over at her. “Thank you, so much, Devi. What prompted this glowing commendation of my mental state?” 

“Jesus fucking Christ, Ben, you’re such an idiot,” she laughs. “Eleanor will love anything you got her, trust me. I know how much it means to her that you think she’s talented.” 

He glances over at her, turning into the school. “It means a lot?” 

Devi nods. “Yeah, Ben. She values your opinion cause you’re her friend. That’s what friendship is.” 

Ben smiles. “She’s a good friend.” 

Devi hops out of the car, hands shaking slightly as she tucks her hair behind her ear. “Well, so are you.” 

He smiles, soft and sweet and with just the right touch of smugness. “I know I’m a good friend to  _ you, _ David.” 

She blushes—and he always seems to be able to make her blush, now, and she wishes she hated it more than she did—and smirks at him. “You’re really full of yourself.” 

He laughs, shoving his hands in his pockets, and she wants to tuck herself into his side, but resists the urge. She doesn’t want to push him too much either. She can be patient, take her time until prom. 

She’s buoyed by this hope that he sees her as more than a friend, but she doesn’t need to act on that hope quite yet, not until he does. 

So she keeps her hands to herself and steps into the lobby, glancing around to find Fabiola. 

“Fab!” she calls, raising her hand when she spots her friend by the entrance to the theater. “Hey!” 

Ben follows her as she bounces over to Fabiola. “Hey Fab,” he greets. 

“Where’s Eve?” Devi asks, glancing around them. 

“She’s got something going on today,” Fab comments, “so I’m going to come see this again tomorrow with her.” 

Ben pulls out the tickets from his jacket pocket. “You guys ready to go?” he says, as the lights flicker on and off. “The show’s about to start.” 

“I can’t wait,” Devi whispers, almost conspiratorially. 

He takes his seat next to her, and she wants to hold his hand badly, but clasps her hands in her lap instead. She needs to move slowly. 

(plus, she’s a bit skittish herself and she doesn’t want to move faster than she can handle. but this is—it’s ben, and if anyone can make her think this is worth it, then it’s him. devi doesn’t quite know the depth of her feelings yet, but she thinks that ben’s bravery in asking her to prom has spurred her own, and that there could be something  _ real _ between them) 

The show starts then, and Devi knows Eleanor is talented, has heard her sing and perform and rehearse in her bedroom until her voice is raw, but this—this is something  _ beyond. _ Eleanor is beautiful, shockingly, insanely beautiful. 

A supernova contained in one person, and Devi feels her heart spill warmth into her chest as she watches her friend captivate the audience. 

Eleanor was born to be onstage, and Devi loves her so much for it. 

“She’s amazing,” Ben whispers, leaning over to her. 

“I thought you knew that,” she whispers back. 

“I did, but seeing it is something else.” 

She glances over at him, sees the way his eyes shine in the darkness of the auditorium. “That’s true.” 

At intermission, she ducks outside to get herself a bottle of water, leaning against the wall in an empty hallway, enjoying the silence.

“Hey,” Ben says, materializing and handing her a cookie. “Thought you might want a little sustenance.” 

She flushes—again, why the fuck does he seem to be able to make her blush so frequently now, it’s freaking unfair—and accepts the cookie from him, biting into it. “Thank you,” she murmurs. 

He leans next to her, having discarded his blazer in his seat long ago, top two buttons of his shirt undone, and she can’t help it if her gaze fixates on the hollow of his throat. She wants to lean forward and press her lips to it so badly. 

“So,” he says, undoing the buttons on his shirt sleeves and rolling them up, exposing the skin of his forearms, and the motion is hypnotic and soothing, drawing her eyes to the way his fingers flex as he pushes his sleeves up, “how are you doing?” 

She snorts. “Ben, you’re horrible at making small talk.” 

“Just trying to practice for when I have to talk to your mom when I come get you for prom,” he grins. 

Devi laughs. “Please, Ben. You don’t have to try and impress her. She already loves you.” 

She regrets what she’s said the second she sees the smug look cross his face. “She does, does she?” he teases. 

“No,” she grumbles. “I misspoke. She tolerates you.” 

“Hmm, I don’t think so,” he hums. “You just said she loves me.” 

“Why is this such a big deal to you?” 

“Cause your mom doesn’t like anyone, ever, besides you,” he laughs. 

“False, she loves Kamala.” 

Ben snorts. “And Kamala is the most perfect person to ever grace the Earth, so your point is invalid. I stand by what I said, she likes you and Kamala.” 

Devi giggles. “Well, I’m excited for prom. Are you?” 

He smiles at her. “As long as you’re excited, I’m excited.” 

She bites back the urge to ask him what exactly he’s excited for, and smirks. “Well, as long as you get me a corsage, you know, I’ll be happy.” 

Ben snorts, crossing his arms, exposing the corded muscle of his forearms. “Of course, David. I wasn’t raised by  _ wolves, _ you know.” 

“You can’t blame me for thinking you have been, when it comes to your manners sometimes, Gross.” 

“Please,” he snorts. “If anyone here needs a crash course in manners, it’s you.” 

“Why did you ask me to prom if you’re gonna be so mean to me?” she scoffs. 

“Wouldn’t we have fun together?”

Her breath catches in her throat at the mirthful, happy look in his eyes. “Yeah,” she murmurs. “We would.” 

His gaze deepens, turns a bit darker and more intense, and Devi wants so badly to trace his dimples with his fingers. “As—as long we match,” she whispers. 

“You got your dress for that?” 

Devi shakes her head. “No—not yet. I don’t even know what color it’s going to be. Still have to figure that out.” 

Ben steps closer to her, drags his fingertips down her arm and gently hooks his pinky around hers. “I like you in red.” 

“I know,” she murmurs. 

She thinks he might kiss her, and she wants him to, so badly, but then the lights flicker, indicating intermission is about to end, and they need to get back to the show. 

The rest of the show is fabulous, as expected, and they all hang out around at the end, waiting for Eleanor to greet everyone else but them, so they can have some time with her. 

When she’s finally free, they surround her with praise. 

“El!” Devi pulls her friend into a tight hug. “You were so fucking good! Like, oh my god! I can’t believe how good you were.” 

Her friend’s face is still streaked with green as she smiles. “Not quite sure whether or not to take that as a compliment.” 

“Definitely a compliment, El,” Ben laughs, pulling her in for a one-armed hug. “Definitely a compliment, you were amazing.” 

Eleanor flushes red underneath all of that green makeup. “Thanks, Ben.” 

“Told you, the most talented person in this whole goddamn school,” Fabiola grins. 

“You guys,” Eleanor says, tears welling up in her eyes. “You’re the best friends ever.” 

“We just love you, El,” Devi says, hugging her tightly once more. 

“Well,” Eleanor laughs, watery, “let me just change out of this, and we can go get some dinner together.” 

They end up at their favorite diner later that night, the one she went to on her date with Kenneth, and although the date doesn’t hold very fond memories (besides the part where she threw her drink in his face) she still likes the diner. She won’t let some wannabe Harvard douchebag ruin it for her. 

She slides into one side of the booth, Ben next to her, across from Eleanor and Fabiola. “So,” she says, opening the menu, “how tired are you, El?” 

“Exhausted,” Eleanor sighs, dramatically letting her head drop to the table, pillowed by her arms. “I just want to eat something and fall asleep forever.” 

Fabiola snorts. “Well, you can’t eat and sleep at the same time.” 

“Wouldn’t it be so lovely if I could?” 

Ben laughs. “Come on, order whatever you want. It’s on me.” 

“It better be, white boy,” Devi snorts. “You’ve got more money than all of us put together.” 

Ben rolls his eyes. “At the rate you keep going, I’m going to lose all my money before prom night.” 

She smirks. “You’ve uncovered my secret plan.” 

The waiter comes then to take their order, and Eleanor lifts her head up off the table, looking tired but content. 

“So, you guys excited for prom?” she asks, as soon as the waiter leaves. 

Devi smiles. “Yeah. I mean, this one finally manned up and asked me to go with him,” she laughs, turning to Ben. 

He snorts. “Right, like you weren’t excited to come with.” 

“Aww!” Eleanor says. “That’s so nice. You guys are going to prom together!” 

“As friends,” Ben cuts in. 

It’s strange, how this moment unfolds, how she can literally almost feel her heart curl up in her chest and break a little, die a little. Pain floods every single cell in her body, visceral, excessive pain, so sharp she almost gasps from the force of it. 

It’s only because her feelings for Ben are something she has gotten good at shoving down that she manages to keep the smile on her face, even as it feels like someone has just stabbed her in the gut. 

“R—right,” she stammers out. “As friends.” 

She doesn’t quite know how she gets through the rest of the time spent with her friends, only that somehow she does, losing herself in Fabiola and Eleanor’s chatter, ignoring the worried glances Ben shoots at her. 

The whole ride home, she feigns exhaustion, and she knows that she’s not fooling him, but she just needs to be alone right now, needs to be by herself. 

Devi bolts up to her room as soon as he drops her off, ignoring her mom’s questions about how the play was, and collapses against her door, trying to stop the tears from spilling down her face. 

She’s so dumb, such a motherfucking  _ idiot. _ How—how could she ever think that Ben had feelings for her? Of course—of course he doesn’t. She was so stupid. She’d shattered his heart back in sophomore year and hoping she might have it again was just wishful thinking, was just a ridiculous dream. 

She presses the heels of her palms against her eyes and tries to choke back a sob, sliding down her door, sitting against the ground. “You’re such an idiot,” she whispers. “Such a fucking goddamn idiot.” 

(it hurts so much, and she wishes it doesn’t hurt as much as it did. it feels like she can’t breathe, like there’s the weight of the sun sitting on her chest and with every single breath she tries to take in, the pain just gets a little sharper, a little more visceral. 

(her heart feels like it’s been torn out of her chest and she wants to blame him for it, but she can’t blame anyone but herself. ben’s the one who—who stuck to the terms and kept things clean, who reminded her they have lines here they can’t cross. she was the dumb idiot who forgot about that and thought he might feel something back and it hurts that he doesn’t and she wonders if this is anything like what he went through in sophomore year and—) 

she knows she’s only feeling a fraction of what he went through, because she’d let him on, she’d kissed him and let him kiss her in malibu and he had wanted her, so badly, and she had just kept running from him, over and over again, and she can’t blame him, because if she’s feeling only a fraction of what he felt sophomore year she would never forgive herself either) 

Devi buries her face in her knees, trying her absolute best to breathe. She has to remember to breathe, has to remember that it’s ok and that she shouldn’t feel pain over this, that she just got swept up in the romance of it all. 

He’s right. They’re friends. They’re friends and they’re going to prom as friends and she’s going to have to learn to be ok with that, with this future that they have. 

No matter how many times she reminds herself of this, though, the pain doesn’t ebb away. 

* * *

Nursing a broken heart—and it’s not a broken heart, at least, she doesn’t think it is because she’s not like, in love with him, or anything, she’s just got feelings for him—is not something she’s very well accustomed to. 

Because grief and heartbreak are two different things, and Devi’s never felt like this before. Because every time she sees him, her heart hurts a little more in her chest. 

And the worst part, she thinks, is that Ben notices. 

She successfully avoids him for a few days, until he manages to corner her at lunch a week later. 

“Hey, Devi,” he says, sliding into the seat next to her. 

She stiffens instantly, about to run away, but he stops her, placing a hand on her arm. “Devi,” he murmurs. “Please don’t run.” 

(she wants to run so badly, but lately it’s been harder and harder to give in to that desire when ben pulls her back, when he makes her want to stay) 

“Ben,” she murmurs. “I’m ok.” 

He runs his hand up and down her arm. “Devi, I know you’re not.” His eyes are impossibly blue, and when she looks into them, she wants to tell him everything, about how she feels like her heart is beating slow in her chest, how much everything hurts, but she just manages to squash it down. 

“Ben,” she protests, weakly. “I swear I’m fine.”

He reaches a hand out and tucks a strand of hair away, behind her ear. “You’re one of my best friends, Devi. You can tell me what’s wrong, you know that, right?” 

She nods. “I know.” 

But she can’t tell him about this. It’s not his fault. Ben is sticking to the rules. He asked her to prom as friends. He had nothing else in mind. And it’s hurt staying away from him, even if looking at him has also hurt. She misses her friend. 

Devi lays her hand over his and squeezes it. “I know. I’m ok, Ben,” she smiles, a bit unconvincingly. “I am.” 

“Is there anything I can do?” he asks. 

She shrugs. “I’m just feeling a bit exhausted and down,” she murmurs. “I don’t know. I feel like it’s not worthwhile, anymore.” 

“Senioritis?” he asks, wrinkling his nose. 

“Sure,” she laughs, a touch too bitter. “Let’s call it that.” 

Ben sets his jaw. “Are you free, after school?” 

Devi frowns, but nods. “Yeah.” She narrows her eyes at him. “What do you have planned?” 

He shrugs, pulling his hand back and bumping his shoulder with hers as he opens his lunchbox. “I thought we could hang out. Catch a movie. Maybe it’ll cheer you up.” 

(she should say no, because this is exactly how they got themselves into this situation, but the thing about ben is that he always makes her feel better, even when she hurts because of him. she can’t help it. all she wants is to be around him)

“Depends on the movie, Gross,” she quips. “What are you thinking?”

He smiles. “That new movie,  _ Pandemic.” _

“That’s a Bollywood movie.” 

“Uh, yeah, David, and I want to watch it. I think it’ll be interesting.” 

“You want to watch a ridiculously scientifically inaccurate movie about viruses?” she drawls, stabbing at her paneer with her fork. 

He smirks. “You can lecture me.” 

“So you want to watch a ridiculously scientifically inaccurate movie about viruses so that I sleep with you?” she deadpans, not even taking her eyes off of the paneer.

He flushes bright red. “I—I mean—” 

“Relax, Gross,” she laughs. “I’m teasing. Although we both know that you’re doing this just so I’ll be hot when I lecture you.” 

“We could switch it up,” he offers. “Want me to lecture you?” 

She snorts. “Right, like you’re smart enough to tell me things I don’t know.” 

He smirks. “Is that a challenge?” 

“No, just a statement,” she shoots back. 

He laughs, and she’s—she’s missed this, laughing with him and bickering with him. At the end of the day, Ben is her friend. She can’t lose sight of that. She can’t want more than that with him. She won’t. For the sake of them both. 

She has to remember it’s not even possible. She broke him too much back in sophomore year for him to ever even think about liking her again. And that’s ok. It’s good for the both of them. It’s a reminder that what they are—what they always will be—is just friends. 

“Can’t wait,” she drawls. 

* * *

By the shocked look on Ben’s face as they watch the movie, she can tell he certainly wasn’t expecting this. 

“Wait,” he whispers, leaning over to her. “What’s going on?” 

Devi rolls her eyes and sips her drink. “The protagonist just got infected with the disease,” she whispers back. 

“But didn’t they establish that it killed people unrealistically quickly an hour ago? Like, within two hours of being infected? The twist is that he’s been infected from the beginning of the movie, right? It’s been like four days.” 

“Yeah, well, the rules of physics never apply to the hero in these movies, Ben.” 

Ben pops a piece of popcorn into his mouth and stares at the screen in absolute confusion. “But then—how come everyone around him hasn’t been killed? Especially the girl he just made out with?” 

“I dunno,” she says, reaching over to steal one of his Kit Kats. “Maybe she’s immune, or something.” 

“This doesn’t make any sense, Devi,” he murmurs. 

She snorts. “Keep watching.” 

Ben glances over at her, brow furrowed in confusion, before glancing back at the screen as the music starts. 

“Wait,  _ another song?” _ he whispers. “Why? This is a movie about a  _ disease.” _

“Any excuse for a dance number.” Devi takes another sip of her soda and crosses her legs, relishing in the increasing disbelief crossing Ben’s face. She snaps the Kit Kats apart, popping one in her mouth. “That’s how Bollywood works, Ben.” 

“But—why?” 

“There's no logic to how these movies work, Ben.” 

Devi snickers as she watches Ben’s reaction to a particularly ridiculous fight scene. “Devi?” 

“Yes, Ben?” 

“Did he just dodge six or seven bullets?” 

“Yes, he did.”

“But that’s not even metaphysically possible!” Ben hisses. “How the fuck can he dodge six or seven bullets? And isn’t this supposed to be like, a movie about a disease? Why is the antagonist a drug lord? And where did the random doctor come in? And why is she wearing short shorts in the middle of the apocalypse?” 

“You got me,” she murmurs. 

“You know what, Devi? This movie would be about thirty billion times more interesting if the woman was the protagonist.” 

Devi snorts. “Ben, that’s true about everything.”

“Ok, fair enough, but especially in this movie. All this guy has done is dodge bullets and dramatically dance in an apocalyptic outfit.” 

“Yeah, and he’s still going to get billed the most.” 

“I don’t understand how he can stop a bus with his bare hands.” 

Devi rolls her eyes. “Ben, you just have to go with it. Embrace the ridiculousness. If you want to watch something entirely accurate, go watch a documentary.” 

“But this isn’t ridiculous, this is insanely unrealistic. This is beyond possible.” 

“Again, it’s Bollywood.” 

“Well,” he sighs. “At least it’s funny enough to be entertaining.” 

Devi laughs, reaching over and stealing another one of his Kit Kats, ignoring the frown he shoots at her. “That is true.” 

“Stop stealing my candy,” he hisses. 

“Well, you shouldn’t have gotten good candy then,” she hisses back. “Get like, Twizzler’s or something, and then I won’t touch it.” 

“I only got Kit Kats cause they didn’t have Sour Patch Kids,” Ben grumbles.

“Sour Patch Kids are the best,” she agrees. 

He shrugs. “I’m a Ferroro Rocher man myself.” 

“Of course you are.” 

He sticks his tongue out at her and turns back to the screen. “Sophistication.” 

“Pretension,” she sing-songs. 

“Can you guys shut up?” a girl in front of them hisses. 

“Yeah, David, can you?” 

“Shut the fuck up, Ben.” 

“What’s the fun in that?” he murmurs. 

She glares at him. “Look, the movie is almost over, ok?” 

“It’s been like, three hours. It should be done by now.” 

“Yeah, well, we’re almost there.” 

Thankfully, she’s right, and the movie ends soon. Ben chucks the remaining pieces of his popcorn into the trash, brushing off his hands. “I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” he says, ducking into the hallway. 

He comes back, and shoves his hands into his pockets, falling into step with her.

“That was dumb, Devi,” he comments. 

She laughs. “Yeah, I know.” 

“I liked it, weirdly?” he says, scrunching his nose up. “It was fun to make fun of it.” He glances over at her. “I don’t know, what did you think?” 

“I mean, I hated how unrealistic the science was,” she says. “I can deal with everything else, but the science pushed me over the edge. Like, it’s just not possible for a disease to be so deadly and contagious at the same time. I hated that.” 

He hums, eyes dancing with interest. “Of course you did.” 

She grins. “What are you thinking, Ben?” 

He laughs, opening the door to his car and letting her slide into the passenger seat. “Nothing.” 

“Don’t lie to me, Gross,” she comments, buckling her seatbelt. “What’s going on?” 

It’s dark by now, the movie having run long, and she can barely see him in the light. “Nothing’s going on.” 

Devi leans over and places a hand on his knee. “Really?” she says, surprised at how low her voice pitches. “You don’t want me to tell you all about how the science was inaccurate?” 

“Well, not here,” he murmurs. “People are around.” 

Devi runs her tongue across her lower lip, watching as his eyes—almost insanely, impossibly, luminously blue—glow in the light, fall to her mouth and then back up to her eyes. 

(it’s hard to remind herself that—that he only thinks of them as friends, that she has to shove down and suffocate these feelings because of that, when he looks at her like this, a little hungry, a lot wanting, because devi has always wanted someone to look at her like this. and ben looks at her like she’s always wanted someone to look at her, but it’s still not enough, not anymore. 

(and she knows she’s being greedy, but there’s a very specific way that ben looks at her right now, like, like the curve of the crescent moon lies in his eyes. there’s warmth and a light that shines in his eyes, but it’s not fully there. some part of him is locked away and she craves to crack that part of him open and discover it) 

it’s not enough, because devi wants more, more, more, but the thing is the only person she wants more from is ben, and he’s never going to give her that. and she can’t even be upset because of how she hurt him. after taking so much from him, without even a second thought, devi will take whatever he gives to her without a single complaint, even if she wants more) 

“Where, then?” she asks, hardly daring to raise her voice above a whisper. 

“Where do you want me to?” He sets his hand on his knee, over her hand, lacing their fingers together. 

She glances around them. “Here.” 

He raises an eyebrow. “Didn’t think you were an exhibitionist, David,” he chuckles. 

“Not like, here, in the parking lot, you idiot. Your car, here.” 

He looks at her, eyes dark. “You want me in my car?” 

(i want you everywhere, as long as it’s with me) 

“Yes,” she nods. 

“Ok. I know where to go.” 

Devi holds her breath and pulls her hand from his thigh, watching as he starts the car and takes them away from the theater. He drives for about ten minutes, and she can’t stop staring at his hands, at the way they flex on the steering wheel. She follows his hands up the line of his forearm to his shoulders to his jaw, drinking him in over and over again. 

“Devi,” he warns, his hands tightening on the wheel as they pull up at a red light. “You can’t look at me like that.” 

“Like what?” she rasps, 

“Like how you’re looking at me right now,” he murmurs, low and purposeful. “You know what you’re doing.” 

She swallows. “Ben, come on.” 

He swears, glancing over at her. “You’re such a temptation, you know that?” 

Ben finally stops the car, and she glances around, seeing he’s taken her to an empty parking lot, behind a few of the stores she recognizes in the mall, no one else around. 

“Romantic location,” she breathes. 

“It was the closest place I knew,” he whispers. 

(right now devi wants to unbutton his shirt and press her hands against his chest, to feel his heartbeat against her palm like she did at malibu, to delude herself into thinking that it might be beating out her name underneath her hand, to crawl into his lap and wrap her hands around his body and pull him close to her, to try and get close to him, close to his heart, to ease the aching of her own. sex, she realizes, is the only way she knows how to be close to him, in a way he wants as well. the press of his skin against her own is how she can feel close to him) 

“Right,” she says. 

She wonders what else to say, how to get him to touch her, but she remembers that she and Ben have never needed words, not as much as they thought. 

He turns his car off and leans over, kissing her. 

And it’s a  _ good _ kiss. Full of intent and hunger and—fuck, it makes her head spin. Closer, closer, closer, she needs to get closer. 

Devi scrabbles at her side, clumsily unbuckling her seatbelt before she pushes herself up and over the gear shift. Physical communication has never been their problem, so it kicks in and Ben’s hands drop to her waist, helping her climb into his lap, not breaking the kiss once. 

She runs her hands up his side and cups his jaw, tilting his head up to kiss him harder, to lose herself in his touch. 

(fuck, fuck, fuck, she needs him, needs his touch and to be closer to him, she needs him so much her heart aches with it) 

Ben bites her lip, and her mouth opens in surprise, and her fingers tighten on his shoulders as his tongue sweeps into her mouth, and she bucks against him in shock. Fuck, his hands on her feel so, so good, like they always do. His hands on her always make her feel amazing, a little bit better. 

“Oh god,” she breathes, feeling his hands skim up her spine. “I can’t believe a fucking movie turns you on.” 

“You do that,” he murmurs. 

His hands shove her skirt up to her hips, bunching it up, and he slips his fingers into her, causing her to let out a gasp against his mouth. “Ben,” she gasps. 

Ben’s other hand skims up her side and drags against the edge of her underwear, back and forth, just above it, against her hip. “Tell me what you want, Devi.” 

Performative, she knows, because Ben knows her body even better than she does, she thinks, but he wants her to say it. 

“Go faster, Ben,” she murmurs. She ducks her head down and kisses him, presses her lips against his to try and steady herself, even as her hands shake on his shoulders. “Fuck, go faster.” 

He picks up the pace of his hand, and Devi whimpers, scrabbling at his shoulders. “Fuck, fuck,” she whines. 

Colors spin and flash before her eyes, bright and swirling and overwhelming, and Devi can’t breathe. The only place she can look into is his eyes, and so she focuses on that, to look at him. 

“I can’t believe—believe you agreed to this,” she chokes out. 

Ben huffs a laugh against her neck. “Yeah well. Not giving up the chance to see you like this.” 

“Take a pic—picture. It’ll last longer.” 

“That’s pornography, David,” he drawls, distressingly nonchalant. “I don’t think you want that.” 

Ben shifts his thumb and presses it against her clit, not moving, and she moans, arching into him. “Damn,” she cries. 

“You’re so close, Devi,” he murmurs. “I can feel how close you are. Come on, come on.” 

Devi lifts her hands off of his shoulders and scrabbles at the leather seat, trying to grip onto something a bit tighter, without the worry of hurting him too much. She squeezes her eyes shut, panting. 

“So,” he murmurs. “Will you get a red dre—dress?” 

“You—what?” she breathes, opening her eyes, stunned by the change in discussion. 

“On prom night,” he murmurs. “Wear red.” 

“Don’t tell me what to do, Gross,” she chokes out. “I’m telling you what to do right now.” 

“Wear red because I asked for it,” he shoots back, shifting his wrist a bit. 

“Oh my god,” she whimpers. “I—harder, Ben.” 

He rubs at her harder, flicking his thumb over her clit, and she’s getting so close her heart is pounding, and it’s ridiculously hot, sitting in his car while he makes her come apart with his hands. 

Devi sucks in a breath of air, hanging her head down and locking eyes with him. 

“Come on, Devi. Are you gonna wear red for me?” 

“I’ll—I’ll think about it,” she chokes out. “I will.” 

(fuck, she wants to tell him so badly about how she feels, how much she wants him, how much she wants his hands all over her, how much she wants him to make her feel good and fall apart and everything. she wants him, him, him, and it’s so hard to remember that it’s not fair for her to want him) 

“Kiss me, Devi,” he murmurs, and she can never deny him anything, so she ducks down and presses her lips against his. 

She moans against his mouth, bucking against his hand and it’s so, so good. Ben twists his hand and she sobs against his mouth, so impossibly close. He kisses her harder and she can’t breathe, can’t function, her mind spinning. 

“Move—move your fingers just a bit,” she breathes out, against his mouth. “Right—fuck,  _ there, there!” _ she cries out, breaking away from his mouth to breathe, to heave, hand slapping against the window of the car, loud, as she tries to steady herself, as his fingers rub against the perfect spot in her, sending shockwaves radiating throughout her. 

“You’re beautiful in red, Devi,” he murmurs. “Wear it for me, come on.” He backs off just the slightest bit, and she chokes back a strangled whine, determined to keep her dignity. 

“You—fuck, come on,” she pleads. “Don’t be a fucking dick.” 

“Are you gonna wear red?” he murmurs. 

“I—I wear clothes for myself,” she chokes out. “Not for any man.” 

“Hot. I like that,” he laughs, picking up the speed of his hands ever more, but avoiding sending her over the edge. “Come on, Devi. You won’t wear red? Not even for me?”

“I won’t wear anything for  _ anyone, _ especially you.” 

“But you’re so beautiful in red.” He skims his other hand up her side and trails his finger across her collarbone. “Flushed and wanting me,” he murmurs. “Please?” 

“Fuck, fine,” she chokes out. “I’ll get a red dress, just  _ move.” _

“Good,” he murmurs.

Ben presses his hand against the small of her back, keeping her steady, and moves even faster, and when he flicks his thumb over her clit rapidly, her nails scratch against the back of the headrest, trying to get a grip as she crumbles above him. 

She comes looking right into his blue, blue eyes, and she curses them. 

He steadies her as she shakes above him and even when she squeezes her eyes shut all she can see is the color of his eyes, staring right into her soul, prompting her to spill all her secrets, to face everything she feels. 

(ben, ben, ben) 

“Devi,” he murmurs. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful.” 

She sighs, still in his lap, and opens her eyes slowly, almost hazily. His other hand comes up and brushes her cheek, soft and soothing. She thinks she could melt into him right here, satisfied and content. 

“Wow,” she breathes, leaning down and dropping her forehead against his. He gently pulls his fingers out of her before wiping them on a tissue he pulls from the box, and then rubs his hand up and down her back, letting her breathe. 

“Fuck yeah, wow.” 

“Dick.” 

She lets her eyes slip shut again, pulling her hand off the window and curling it around his waist, pulling him closer. “Devi,” he murmurs, a laugh in his voice. “If you fall asleep here, I can’t drive us home.” 

“Don’t care,” she murmurs, breathing in the scent of sandalwood and sweat. “I’m tired.” 

“Devi.” His voice is low and soothing, comforting, wrapping around her like a warm blanket. “Come on, I gotta get you home.” 

“No,” she whines. “Stay here.” 

She shifts her head, tucking it into his neck and breathing in him even more, letting her limbs melt further into him with every pass of his hand down her back and his other hand, rubbing circles into the base of her neck with his thumb. He shifts, pressing his lips against her head gently. “You can’t sleep here, Devi. Let me take you home.” 

(he doesn’t get it, does he? she doesn’t want to sleep, she doesn’t want to nap, doesn’t want to fall into her bed. that’s not what she wants here—what she wants is  _ him. _ she wants to fall asleep in his arms, with his smell surrounding her, she wants to wake up with him still beside her, she just wants to stay with him) 

It physically hurts her to pull herself away, back from him, but she does so, swallowing down the pain. She opens her eyes, finding him looking up at her, warmth shining in his eyes. 

Whenever he looks at her like—like that, her stomach flips weird and she’s not sure how to process it. She’s not sure if it’s just because she’s hooked up with him or if it’s because of something deeper he feels, and she’s leaning towards the former because of prom, because of what happened. 

(as friends, as friends, as friends) 

She keeps reminding herself that’s how this is, that’s what this is, between them. Friends, full stop. 

“Hey, Devi,” he murmurs. He blinks, and the look vanishes from his eyes, and she mourns it. “Are you ok?” Ben raises his hand up and brushes her cheek. 

She sucks in a breath, sharp and hot and—

“I’m fine,” she says. 

It physically hurts how much she wants him. It physically hurts that she’s got him here, with her, his hands on her body and that she’s graced with his smiles and his eyes, that he bleeds into her life, beautiful, so gut-wrenchingly beautiful, and she can’t have him. 

(it hurts sometimes that she lies awake in her bed at night wondering if it would hurt less to stop sleeping with him and just cut him out of her life—but that would hurt ben too and be too similar to malibu, and if there’s one thing she’s not going to do, it’s repeat malibu. she’s never going to put him through that again) 

“I’m ok,” she says. “I just—don’t want to go home quite yet.” 

Ben nods, understanding shining in his eyes. “Ok.” he murmurs. “You sure?” 

She holds onto this moment, fleeting and golden and good, before it slips out of her hands. 

(their relationship has an expiry date, but she doesn’t need to accelerate that any more than necessary) 

“Yes. Just give me a second.” 

As friends, she reminds herself, even as she closes her eyes and lets herself relax. 

As friends, she reminds herself, even as she inhales, deeply, holding the scent of him in her lungs. 

As friends. 

It’s impossible to remember that when she’s wrapped up in him like this, and he’s here, in her arms, it’s impossible to remember, but it’s something she has to remember, because it’s what Ben wants. 

He wants to draw the lines here, wants to make sure she knows what they are to each other. She’ll keep that reminder close, take it out whenever the temptation gets too strong. 

She has to, for the sake of her own heart. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> your comments and kudos make me happier than kamala getting a crystal beaver!! come talk to me about the show! you can find me on tumblr: @[parkersedith](https://parkersedith.tumblr.com/)


	13. act xiii: in the fire i call your name out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He just laughs, loud and bright, and god, she missed his laugh. It slams into her, full force, with the same amount of kinetic energy she thinks a tsunami wave holds whenever it slams into a building. But more than that, more than the kinetic energy is the potential energy his laugh contains, promising her things she aches for._
> 
> _(she never really understood the concept of potential energy before this. devi’s brilliant, and she’d aced all her physics exams—even if she hates physics—but potential energy had always confused her. how could something hold energy it never really had? but ben’s laugh is the one thing in the world that helps her understand potential energy. the potential it holds takes her breath away)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is brought to you by maggie rediscovering her dress of legend and leila's first haircut in eight (8) months
> 
> hey guys! i hope you like this chapter! it's the last like, more chill one before things really start to pick up! holy shit, we are only 3 more chapters from the end and i lowkey cannot believe it. it's insane, i'll be finishing this fic up, and moving into my dorm at the same time. full circle, guys, full circle
> 
> lmao you pervs i hope you like this chapter the messages you guys have sent me requesting some stuff that happens here.....you're just lucky i had it planned anyways
> 
> this chapter has like 42% more sex than i initially planned on it having but like, are any of you complaining? no? no i didn't think so lol i love you guys so much. i really hope you like it! can't wait for you guys to see what's in store for the next one! 
> 
> (chapter title from “dancin’ in circles” by lady gaga)
> 
> ok thanks guys!! please enjoy!!

Because Ben is a dick, he drops the news on her like a bomb going off. 

Ok, so she knows he didn’t mean for it to resonate like that, but she can’t help but feel a bit blindsided by the whole thing. 

The weird thing is, he acts like it doesn’t affect her, and that’s what hurts the most.

He tells her the few days before spring break is about to start.

“Devi,” he murmurs, setting down his book. “We need to talk.” 

She feels bile rise up in her throat at those words, and prays her hands aren’t shaking as she peers over her own book—the side effect of spending too much time with him—into his blue eyes. “Yeah,” she says, trying to put on airs. “What’s up, Gross?” 

(she can already hear what he’s about to say in her head: we need to end this, i don’t want to do this anymore before we leave for college, and i’m sorry, i know you feel that way about me but i just don’t feel that way about you, not after what you did, sorry) 

Ben sighs, picking at the threads on his comforter. He looks  _ tired, _ she realizes, a shock of sympathy piercing through her. He’s got faint dark circles underneath his eyes and his shoulders are full of tension. He needs to take a break, fuck why can’t he take  _ care _ of himself? 

“Ben,” she says again, her voice shaking ever so slightly, and she’s lost the battle because of that, she knows it, “what’s up?” 

He looks away from her, staring at his wall, and Devi follows his gaze to their agreement, pinned up on the wall. 

“Did you put your deposit down for Princeton yet?” he murmurs. 

It’s not what she’d been expecting him to say, and she physically jerks back in shock, mouth dropping open slightly. “Wha—what?” 

“Your deposit for Princeton,” he murmurs. “Did you put it down yet? Commit?” 

She blinks at him, answering without a second thought. “Uh, yeah, I did. The second I could. Why—why do you wanna know?” 

He looks at her, eyes tired and questioning and holding  _ secrets _ she thinks she will never know the answers to. 

(and suddenly she is standing on his front porch four days after malibu, suddenly she is about to put herself into free fall. suddenly, she is—) 

“You know why, Devi,” he whispers. 

Devi swallows roughly, tucking back a strand of hair. “Right. Yeah.” 

She wonders if either of them will ever be brave enough to put the words out there, and she realizes that what holds Ben back now has always been what has held him back when it comes to her—his heart. He has always held his words back for  _ her, _ and it’s been too easy to let him to. 

She’s not brave enough either, and it damns them. 

“So—so what are you going to do?” 

“That’s why I’m asking you,” he murmurs. 

“Ben.” Devi lays her hand on his knee, squeezing it. “Remember what we talked about? You can’t do what I want you to do. I want you to do what you want to do.” 

He groans, flopping back on his bed, hands pressed against his face. “Devi, I just—I want you to be comfortable.” 

She sets her jaw. “Why are you so bad at being selfish?” she snaps. 

Ben’s hands fall away from his face, and he lets them flop out to the side, staring up at his ceiling. “What? How can you be bad at being selfish?” 

Devi grabs a pillow and smacks Ben in the chest with it, winding him. “You! You’re bad at being selfish. Come on, Ben, don’t lie to me. What do you want?” 

“I don’t know, Devi!” he groans, sitting up. He leans back on his hands, hair slightly disheveled, shirtless, foot brushing her leg. His eyes lock with hers. “I’m not quite sure what I want,” he murmurs, and she feels naked and exposed, even those she is clothed. 

She wraps her arms around herself. She is dressed in nothing more than her underwear and a loose t-shirt that she’s about 76% sure is his, soft on her shoulders, threadbare and cozy. She still feels like he can see right beyond the clothing into her soul. Perhaps the clothing only helps. 

Devi bites her cheek, rubbing her arms to rid herself of the goosebumps that erupt in the wake of his gaze. “Are you sure about that? That you don’t know what you want?” 

His fingers flex on the bedspread, scanning over her. “No.” 

Her breath catches in her throat. “So—so you do have an idea?” 

(coded coded coded)

“Maybe.” 

She can’t look at him anymore, dropping her eyes to the comforter. “Right. So, Princeton?” 

“I’ve wanted Yale for over a decade,” he murmurs. “I don’t know what I would do, giving that up.” 

She tilts her head, staring at the outline of her own legs underneath the bedspread. “Maybe you shouldn’t think about what you should be giving up. Maybe you should think about what you would be gaining.” 

“So you think I should go to Princeton?” 

Devi swallows roughly, forcing herself to drag her gaze up to meet his. He deserves that, at least. He deserves that much. “I think you need to do what you want to do. Not what anyone else wants you to do. Maybe you should stop holding yourself back.” 

This time, he breaks her gaze, casting his eyes over to the agreement again. “Would you be ok with that?” 

“I want you to be happy, Ben. I’m your friend. Of course I’d be ok with that.” She struggles to say the words on the tip of her tongue, but she needs to say it. Needs to tell him. “I—I want you to do whatever makes you happy.” 

(even if that means turning away from me. even if that means this ends right here, right now, and i never feel your lips on my skin again) 

He reaches out, squeezing her hand for a split second. “Thank you, Devi.” 

Somehow, she manages to smile, grin at him. “Well,” she deflects, winking at him, “I am a  _ fantastic _ friend. I think I should win like, an award for it.” 

He snorts, shaking his head. “You’re so full of it.” 

“I’m amazing at everything, Gross,” she crows, flipping her hair over her shoulder, the knot in her stomach easing at the lighthearted banter reappearing between them. “You should know that by now,” she smirks.

Ben rolls his eyes, a smile playing at his lips. “You really think you’re better in bed than you are.” 

“That could be your autobiography, Gross.” 

He smirks, raising an eyebrow in challenge. “I must be ok, because you’re still here.” 

“Yeah, ok. I’ll bump you up to average,” she snorts. 

Ben moves quickly, knocking her back on the bed, pressing a kiss to her neck, right at the collar of her—his—shirt. “Just average?” he murmurs. 

Devi lets herself melt back into his bed, eyes fluttering shut in bliss as he sucks marks into her neck, scraping his teeth over the cord of muscle down the line of her throat. “Oh, yeah,” she sighs. “A C average, so far,” she murmurs. 

He pulls back then completely, eyes flickering over her face. “A C? Are you fucking kidding me?” 

Devi rolls her eyes, frustrated he stopped kissing her neck. “Fine, B.” 

“B?” He sounds impossibly offended, and she doesn’t know why that’s so funny to her, but it is. Ben’s hands tighten on her hip, ducking his head down again. “Are you sure you can’t provide me with some—” he rakes his teeth,  _ hard, _ over the curve of her throat, and she lets out a sharp cry, fingers digging into his shoulders, “—extra credit?” 

“I—could be persuaded to raise your average a few points,” she chokes out. 

His lips spread into a grin, pressed against her skin, as his hands slip underneath her-slash-his shirt and dance over her waist. “Glad to hear it.” 

He skims his hand down her leg, smoothing it down the length of her thigh before back up to the side of her breast. “Especially since you’re wearing my shirt now.” 

Devi’s response is cut off when he slips his fingers into her and brings her over the edge, quickly, easily. She gasps, scratching at his back as she comes, distressingly straightforward. 

“And it’s hot as hell,” he says, far too nonchalant as he leaves her a shaking mess on his bed. “You wearing my clothes when I get you off,” he murmurs. 

She’s kind of out of it, but forces her eyes to open anyways. “Can’t believe you sometimes,” she chokes out. 

He leans in and bites her neck. “Did I get the extra credit?” he murmurs. 

She groans, scrabbling at his back. “You’re incorrigible.” 

“I’m a hard worker,” he whispers. “And I like to get good grades.” 

She shakes her head. “I’ll bump you up to a B+,” she whispers. “Work a bit over the next week and maybe you’ll bring your GPA up.” 

He pulls away then, suddenly, wincing. “Right, about that...” 

Devi narrows her eyes at him, pushing herself up into a sitting position. “Ben? What are you hiding?” 

He raises his hands. “Nothing like, bad!” he says, guiltily. “My family and I are just—going on vacation during spring break, so I won’t be here.” 

She blinks. “Oh. Right.” 

(it’s weird, the thought of ben going where she can’t be with him. it makes something dark and dangerous coil up in her stomach, makes something tighten around her heart and lungs) 

He scowls. “It’s not going to be much fun,” he spits out. “If my parents spend more than ten seconds looking at me, I’ll consider it a family trip.” 

(and this is the part that breaks her heart)

“Where are you guys going?” 

“Cancún,” he sighs. “We own a vacation house there.” 

Devi raises an eyebrow. “Mexico? God, white people are ridiculous.” 

He smiles bitterly. “I’ll probably just be bored out of my mind. Doubt anyone will notice I’m even gone.”

(and this hurts because—because  _ she’ll _ notice he’s gone, and he doesn’t even think she cares)

“Well, we’re not going anywhere that week,” she says. Gnawing on her lip, she blurts out, “you can call and text me, you know. We’re friends.” 

Ben smiles. “Oh. Thanks, Devi.” 

She smiles back, suddenly flush with the need to get close to him before he vanishes for a week. “Well then,” she says, looping her arms around his neck and falling back on the bed, pulling him down on top of her. “You don’t have as much time as I thought to bring up your GPA. Maybe you should get started on that.” 

“Mmm,” he hums, eyes dancing with mirth. “For once, David, you’ve got a good idea.” 

Her reply is lost when he presses his lips against hers, and she pushes those thoughts out of her mind, savoring his touch instead. 

* * *

It’s hard, though, to savor his touch and hear his voice talking to her, when it’s been nearly five days since he left. 

And she misses him. 

God, she misses him so much it feels like she can’t breathe, sometimes. Despite knowing he could call or text, he hasn’t, and she’s lost count of the number of times she’s picked up her phone to open her text thread with him and tried to send a text. 

Fuck, she misses him. 

Devi buries herself in her comforter. It’s only nine pm, and she can’t even think about doing anything else when she feels like this. It’s weird, like, like some part of her is missing, but she knows it’s not. 

She groans, burying her head in her pillow in frustration. She doesn’t—really know how to  _ deal _ with this either, is the thing. There’s nothing she can take to help her feel better, no amount of medicine that can soothe this. 

She doesn’t even get a reprieve in sleep, because he’s in her dreams, most nights, laughing and smiling and god, she misses him so much it hurts. 

Devi turns her head to the side and stares at her phone, sitting on her bedside dresser, shoving down the temptation to pick it up and call him. She wishes he were here so that his hands might smooth over her body, but also so that she might hold his.

(his hand in hers is something she cannot stop thinking about, something she wants more than almost anything in the world, just to lace her fingers around his and press their palms against one another, to brush her fingers over his knuckles and to press her thumb against his wrist, to feel his pulse) 

She sighs, sitting up in bed and running a hand through her hair, pulling open her dresser drawer. Removing the journal, she reaches for the sketchbook under it, flipping it open. 

A smile crosses her face as she trails her fingers over the drawing of their hands she did just last night. It’s almost a ritual, now, to draw Ben at least every other night, if not almost every night. She’s lost count of the amount of sketches she has, of his eyes, his smile, his face, but mostly, mostly, of his hands. 

Mostly of their hands.

She flips to the back of the sketchbook, looks at the most recent sketch of him she did, of the smile that split his face when she’d said yes to his question about prom. It hurts to look at it, and it hurts to keep it closed and locked away. 

She tries not to think about how that’s becoming increasingly more applicable to this situation. 

Her phone buzzes, suddenly, a persistent, continuous vibration, and Devi glances over, picking it up off the dresser. Her frown morphs into a smile when she sees that it’s Ben calling her. 

Leaning back on her pillows, she shuts the sketchbook and tosses it to the side, hitting answer on the call. 

“You cracked easy, Gross,” she laughs, in lieu of proper greeting.

She can practically  _ hear _ him rolling his eyes as he replies, “It’s been almost five days.” 

“Still, you cracked first,” she says, burying herself further into her bed. 

“Well, if you don’t want to talk, I can always hang up,” he smirks. 

“No!” she says, perhaps a bit too loudly. She clears her throat. “No, no, I—uh, I’m kinda bored here so it’s nice to talk to someone. Even if that someone is you.” 

“You wound me, David. What, my voice that grating?” 

(no, actually. his voice is the opposite of grating, low and deep and comforting and something she wants to melt into, something she wants to fall into, easy and still and—like a warm blanket, surrounding her, something she can savor) 

“Occasionally,” she teases, instead. “Not now, though. Five days of not hearing it has given my eardrums some time to recover.” 

“You’re so mean to me,” he snorts. “How’s spring break, so far?” 

She sighs, staring up at the ceiling. “Boring as hell. I’ve been binge watching  _ Grey’s Anatomy _ lately.” 

“You hate that show,” he says, amused.

“Yeah, but I needed something long to watch continuously,” she protests. “So, I gave in to the hype.” 

“Mhm,” he says, clearly unconvinced. “And how many times have you yelled at the screen per episode?” 

She scowls, disliking that he knows her so well even from thousands of miles away. “Shut the fuck up, Ben.” 

He just laughs, loud and bright, and god, she missed his laugh. It slams into her, full force, with the same amount of kinetic energy she thinks a tsunami wave holds whenever it slams into a building. But more than that, more than the kinetic energy is the potential energy his laugh contains, promising her things she aches for. 

(she never really understood the concept of potential energy before this. devi’s brilliant, and she’d aced all her physics exams—even if she hates physics—but potential energy had always confused her. how could something hold energy it never really had? but ben’s laugh is the one thing in the world that helps her understand potential energy. the potential it holds takes her breath away) 

It’s fucking torturous, because his laugh holds things she wants but will never, ever get, and she still can’t get enough of it.

“I’ve got you clocked, David,” he says. “You can’t pretend with me.” 

“You’re such a dickwad, Gross,” she snaps. “I was hoping you might be a little less annoying from thousands of miles away, but apparently not.” 

“Sorry to be such a disappointment,” he snorts. 

Devi rolls her eyes, and then stifles a yawn, already tired. 

“Sleepy already, David?” he smirks, mirth in his voice. “It’s like, 9:15 back home.” 

“Shut up,” she murmurs, rubbing at her eyes. “What time is it there?” 

“11:15,” he replies. “And I’m not even tired, unlike you.” 

“You’re insufferable,” she says, pulling the covers further up her body. “I’m not tired.” 

“Hmm,” Ben laughs. “Right, you’re not tired.” 

“I’m not!” she protests. “Anyways, forget about it. Enjoying Cancún?”

He sighs, heavy. “Nah, not really. It’s kind of boring.” 

Devi snorts, shifting slightly in bed so that she can rest her elbow on the pillow while holding her phone, to prevent her arm from tiring out. “Cancún is boring? Fuck, Gross, how spoiled  _ are _ you? You’re literally in like, fucking paradise, and you’re bored.” 

“Hey!” he protests. “I’m not bored cause I like, have nothing to do. It’s just boring not having anyone to do this stuff with. It’s just me and my parents, so.” 

Devi snorts. “What, there aren’t any hot girls for you to hang out with?” 

“No, there are plenty,” he shoots back. “I just don’t want to hang out with them.” 

“Really?” she says, a little in disbelief. “None of them?” 

“Are you jealous, David?” 

“No,” she scoffs, more than a little unconvincing. “I’m not jealous.” 

“Right,” he says, drawing the word out for an unnecessarily long time. “I believe you.” 

“I’m not!” she snaps. “In fact, I’ve been enjoying this week away from you. Maybe we could extend it past when you come back.” 

“You wanna keep this break going?” he murmurs, voice suddenly a bit lower. 

“Maybe,” she answers, flippantly, even as her heart picks up speed in her chest.

“Really?” he says, voice a low rumble. “You don’t want me to touch you?” 

Devi chokes down a whimper, her heartbeat increasing. “You’re in Cancún, Gross,” she points out, choosing her words carefully. “Don’t know how much you can do from there.” 

“Fair point,” he hums. “But you can.” 

She gasps, a little low and really,  _ really _ turned on. “You—you want me to—” 

“Touch yourself, Devi,” he rumbles. “And follow my instructions. You’ll do what I ask you to, right?” 

“Yes,” she answers, head spinning, dizzy, blood simmering hot and thick in her body. “I will.” 

“Good,” he praises. “What are you wearing?” 

She looks down at herself. “A—a hoodie and sweatpants.” 

Ben swears into the phone. “Fuck, my hoodie?”

She swallows. “Yes.” 

“Dammit, Devi,” he sighs. “You’re gonna kill me, you know that?” 

“You can die af—after,” she suggests. “Keep talking, please.” 

“Ok,” he agrees, voice quiet and so low it sends a shiver down her spine. “Ok, Devi, I want you to trail your fingers down your neck,” he murmurs. 

She follows his instructions, biting back a whimper when her nail scrapes against one of the hickeys he left the day before he went on vacation, the skin still a bit sensitive. “And don’t be quiet,” he commands. “If I can’t see or touch you, I’m going to hear you.” 

“Fuck, ok,” she agrees. “Ok, I did what you asked.” 

“Slide your hand down your body,” he says, “over my sweatshirt.” 

“Oh—ok,” she breathes. 

“And do it slow,” he whispers. “Take your time, like you know I would if I was there.” 

Devi’s scared she might break her phone from how tightly she’s gripping it, and just barely bites back a groan of frustration, managing to turn it into a sound of assent. She drags the very tips of her finger down over the patterning on the sweatshirt, down the space between her breasts, to her navel. “What next, Ben?” she rasps, mouth impossibly dry. She runs her tongue over her lips, wishing viscerally, sharply, that he was with her. 

“What do you think I would do?” he asks, far too nonchalant. Her entire body is on fire and she knows, she knows it won’t be as good as his hands on her, but she needs something. 

“Ben,” she groans. “Don’t—don’t do this to me.” 

“Don’t do what?” 

“I’m not—I want you to tell me,” she says. “Don’t play games, not now.” 

“Whatever you want, Devi,” he murmurs. “Slide a finger into yourself and press your thumb against your clit, come on. Just like I would.” 

She follows his instructions and gasps, eyes slipping shut as the colors flash behind her eyes, ripping through her. “God, Ben,” she gasps. 

“Does it feel good, Devi?”

“Yeah,” she answers. “It feels good. Really good.” 

“As good as my hands?”

Despite everything, she chokes out a strangled laugh, shifting her hand slightly, sending a little bolt of pleasure through her. “You know the fucking answer to that, you prick.” 

“Didn’t ask that, Devi,” he murmurs, not at all affected by her tone. “I asked if your hands feel as good as mine.” 

“I, fuck, you know the answer,” she cries, softly. 

“I want to hear you say it.” 

“No.” The word slips out before she can take it back. “N—no, no, they don’t. Not—not as good.” 

“As what?”

“As your hands, Ben,” she sobs. “Fuck, come on, let me move them, please.” 

“Hmm,” he hums. “Go ahead, Devi. Move on your hand.” 

She does, moving it a bit faster, gasping in pleasure as she approaches the edge. “Oh, god.” 

“Add another finger,” he rumbles, voice cutting through the haze of pleasure clouding her mind. “Come on, Devi. You know what I would do if I were there. Come on.” 

Devi does as he asks and nearly bows off the bed, sharp, hot bliss spiraling through her. “Close,” she gasps. “I’m really close, Ben.” 

“God,” he sighs. “I wish I could see you. I bet you look beautiful.” 

“Not—not the time to compliment my looks, Gross,” she chokes out. 

“I’ll say what I want to say to you, Devi,” he murmurs. “Bet you look beautiful right now.” 

(if she closes her eyes hard enough, focuses on the faint scent of sandalwood still clinging to his hoodie, she can almost—almost pretend that he’s here with her, that she’s not here alone, that his voice isn’t coming through a phone speaker but that he’s lying next to her, talking her through this and barely an inch away. the key word there, of course, is almost) 

“Fuck, Ben, I wish you were here,” she confesses. It spills out before she can take it back, and she nearly dies, terrified she’s scared him off. 

But he doesn’t miss a beat. “I wish I was there too,” he whispers. “Go ahead, Devi. Let go.” 

It’s like she’s just been waiting for permission this whole time, and she shatters. It’s nowhere near as good as when Ben does it, and she still wishes his hands were on her and that he was here, but his voice is in her ear and she’s going to take what she can get, without complaint. 

She moans his name into the phone, low and soft. When she finally comes back to earth, she blinks, opening her eyes, feeling like she’s melted into the mattress. 

“Holy shit,” she breathes. “That was really hot.” 

“Glad to be of service,” he laughs. “It was very hot to hear. Wish I could have seen it.” 

“You perv,” she snorts, setting the phone down on her pillow to reach for the tissues in the box on her nightstand. 

“Feel better now?” he asks. 

Devi rolls over, staring at the vinyls he got her. “Ye—yeah,” she chokes out. “I feel better.” 

She doesn’t, actually. Fuck, she misses him so much she feels like she’s broken, like her heart has been ripped out of her chest. 

(the sound of his voice is a poor substitute for him being there, for her being able to bury her nose in his neck and to breathe him in, to wrap her arms around his waist and to run her thumb over his skin, and god, she’s going to fucking lose it) 

She chokes back a sob and presses the phone to her ear again, hand shaking as she says, “so, tell me about Cancún. What’s it like?” 

Ben launches into an explanation of the place—complete with the history and everything, cause he’s a fucking nerd, and fuck, she aches for him—and she struggles to sit up, struggles to choke back her tears. She presses mute on her phone for a split second and lets one, single, visceral sob out. 

It hurts. She’s missed people with her whole being before, of course she has, she lost her  _ father. _ And that hurt more than this, it hurt a lot more than this, but she hasn’t felt the pain in a while, so the immunity she had built up had ebbed away, like waves, smoothing away the rough edges of a stone until it becomes a pebble. 

She is a pebble, and Ben is the ocean, smoothing out her rough edges. 

Devi unmutes her phone and blinks back the tears that spring to her eyes. She’s going to be ok. She doesn’t need to miss him. She’ll see him soon. He’s not gone. Not yet, anyways. She has time to spend with him. 

And Malibu. She’s been putting off Malibu for years now, and some—some part of her knows she has to deal with it, sooner, rather than later, but she can’t do that right now. It’ll crush her, and she doesn’t want that. 

(it feels like her heart is breaking, but she’s gotten good at shoving that down. she picked up the pieces of her broken heart—that she herself broke—in sophomore year, and she can do it once more)

He makes her feel good, makes everything a little better and easier. Not only physically but emotionally. That’s why this isn’t enough. Because she doesn’t just need his body anymore, she needs him, of blue eyes and sunshine smiles and sandalwood. 

Devi still has him, though. She’s still got time and it’s ok. It’s ok so far. 

(so why does she feel like she’s already lost him?) 

She looks up at her ceiling, leaning back against her pillows, and closes her eyes, as he continues to talk, trying to laugh, trying to listen to him. 

She falls asleep to the sound of his voice, wearing his hoodie. 

* * *

Ben turns the box over in his hands, impossibly nervous. 

It’s the Saturday after spring break, and it’s Devi’s birthday too. 

He’d gotten back from Cancun last night, and had just barely resisted the urge to call or text her. He’d missed her the whole time that he was in Mexico, the whole time, like a limb had been ripped from him and the bleeding hadn’t been staunched. Like some irreplaceable part of him had been taken. 

He’s about to leave for her party—which isn’t supposed to be very crowded, just a couple dozen people from school and her family, but he’s still a bit nervous. He gnaws on his lip, running his thumb over the edge of the box, resisting the urge to pick at the wrapping. 

(he doesn’t know what he’s doing, giving her this, but he doesn’t know if he can take this any longer, not letting her know. she has to know, at least a little bit. she deserves to know, at least a little bit) 

He runs his hand over his face and tosses the box on his bed, getting dressed to leave for her house, tugging on a blue shirt that he knows Devi loves. 

Somehow, even though she hasn’t been here for a week, his room still smells like her, jasmine wafting in the air. 

Ben runs his fingers across the bedspread, thinking about the last conversation they had while he was here. 

He’s not going to Princeton because of her. He’s not. He can’t even claim he is, because he’s likely to leave her alone when they get there. It’s just that—Yale isn’t what he wants, anymore. Harvard’s not it either. But not going to a school because of Devi is almost as dumb as going to a school because of Devi. 

“Fuck,” he swears. He needs to stop thinking about this. 

Ben slips on his shoes and grabs Devi’s present, making sure to pick up his car keys from the dish on his dresser. 

Before he leaves, though, he stares at it, opens the envelope and card and stares at what he wrote. 

(just because he can’t say something doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel it, and he needs to get the emotions out, somehow. but this is too much too soon (or too little too late) and he doesn’t think he can handle her finding out before he’s ready. to let her go, that is.) 

And so he tosses the card onto his desk and pulls another one out, scribbling her name and his on the card before tucking it back into the envelope, sealing it and taping it to the top of the box.

He’s in the car before he can regret it. And he’s not going to regret it. It’s her  _ birthday  _ and he doesn’t wanna be embarrassing.

Well, tomorrow is her actual birthday, but today is her party and as her friend, he deserves to be there for her. He wants to be there for her.

Even if friends is all they’re going to be. 

Ben stops at a stop sign harshly, jostling himself against his seatbelt painfully. “Nope, no, forget it,” he mutters to himself. The more he thinks about this, the more he’s going to break his own heart. It’s such a dumb thing to focus on anyways. 

He parks in front of Devi’s house and hops out of the car, shifting on his feet and considering driving away. But this is ridiculous. Why is he so nervous?

Ben looks down at the gifts in his hands. Well, there’s his answer. 

He shakes himself out of his, frankly ridiculous, stupor, and bounds up the steps to the house, swinging the door open and letting himself in. 

“Benjamin!” Nalini appears in front of him, dressed in a pretty green dark kurti, he remembers Devi calling it, her hair pinned back from her face. “It’s so lovely to see you.” 

He offers her a grin. “Hi, Dr. Vishwakumar.” 

She spots the boxes in his hands. “Oh, let me take those,” she says, and before he can protest, she slips the boxes from his hands, tucking them under his arms. “You’re early, not that I expected anything less,” she says, smiling. “Devi’s upstairs. You can go say hi to her while we wait for everyone else to arrive.” 

Ben nods, resisting the urge to ask her for the gifts back. “Uh, thanks, ma’am,” he says, flashing her his most charming smile, the one that always makes the wives of his father’s friends pinch his cheek and coo about how adorable he is. 

Nalini gives him another smile, small but genuine, before she vanishes out the room, leaving Ben to find Devi. 

He bounds up the stairs and raps his knuckles against her door. “Devi? It’s me.” 

(he’s more than a little nervous to see her again, after a week spent apart from her, and he doesn’t know  _ why. _ it doesn’t make any sense, why he is, especially because when he was in cancún all he had wanted to do was to see her was to have her with him and to hold her, to bury his face in her neck and breathe her in. 

(and his face flushes at the memory of when he called her, at her cries that had reverberated in his ear for days after, that he can still hear if he tries hard enough and the longing that had overtaken him, to run to her. but running to devi is an instinct that ben does not usually fight against. it’s easy to run to her) 

it’s hard for her to run to him) 

“Come in,” she says. 

Ben twists the knob and opens the door, stepping into the room. 

He can’t see her at first, but then she steps out behind the open closet door and flashes him a smile. “Hey.” 

“Hey,” he breathes. “You look—” 

She rolls her eyes, turning away from him and fiddling with the simple studs at her ears. “Dumb, right?” 

“Uh, not the word that was running through my mind,” he murmurs, stepping closer to her. He really wants to sweep her hair to the side and press his lips to the length of her neck, slide his hands around her waist and pull her closer to him. 

She scoffs, smoothing her hands down the torso of her green dress. “What were you going to say?” 

He swallows roughly. “That you look really pretty.” 

Devi shoots him a mirthful look. “Did Mexico fry your brain or something? You’re being weirdly nice to me.” 

He scowls. “I’m not being weirdly nice to you.” 

She throws her head back and laughs, exposing her neck, a length of smooth, creamy skin that’s a little too unmarked for his liking. So he steps forward, brushes his fingers against her waist. “I could be nicer, though,” he murmurs, tilting his head to the side. 

Devi rolls her eyes, a smile playing at her lips. “You’re horrible.” 

“Hmm,” he hums. “Got any other names for me?” 

“Terrible. Corrupting. Irredeemable,” she breathes, as he sweeps his arm around her waist and tugs her closer to him. “Degenerate.” 

“You didn’t miss this?” he murmurs. “Didn’t miss me touching you?” 

He skims his fingers up her spine, biting back a pleased grin as she arches into him, whimpering in response. Because of the low cut of her dress, dropping as low as mid back, he can brush his hands over her bare skin, watching as she shivers. 

Devi shakes her head. “You wish, Gross.” 

He nudges at her jaw with his nose, breath ghosting over her pulse point, and he can feel her heartbeat pick up speed, hammering away in her chest. He never gets tired of this, the way her body reacts to his, almost primally. 

“What would you do if I said yes?” he murmurs, just before he kisses her neck. 

He’s playing with fire and he fully expects to get burned. 

Devi protests weakly, shifting her body and running her hands up his back, pulling him closer. “Are you kidding me?” she groans. “Now?” 

He doesn’t respond, choosing instead to suck a mark into the underside of her jaw, at the small span of skin he knows drives her insane. “Ben,” she whimpers. “I have to finish getting dressed and my  _ mother _ is downstairs.” 

“Fine,” he breathes, pulling away from her. His eyes roam over her neck, pleased that he can see a red mark forming on her jaw. “At least I got this.”

She shoves him away, rolling her eyes. “Absolutely insane,” she mutters. 

She perches on her vanity and glances at herself, scowling when her fingers brush the hickey he just left on her jaw. “Seriously? Do you know how hard it is to cover up these?” 

He smirks, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I mean, you don’t really care that much, do you?” 

She swivels around and throws a bag of cotton balls at him, which he catches deftly, smirking. “You’re an asshole.” 

“Hmm, don’t worry about it, David. I’m sure you’ll be fine.” 

Ben locks eyes with her in the vanity and his fingers twitch. One touch isn’t nearly enough for him. He doesn’t think it’ll ever be enough, honestly. A lifetime with her could never be enough. 

(he’s falling for her, deeper and deeper every day, and that’s the scary thing about love. it’s not a pit where he will hit rock bottom, not where his body and bones will be broken. it’s an endless vortex in which the laws of physics are warped. he’s going to fall and fall, and right now, there’s no end in sight) 

The words are on the tip of his tongue and he knows he should hold them back he knows he should, because telling her is—is not in the cards and it’s such a violation and he’s not even really sure and yet they’re still there and—

“Happy birthday, Devi!” Eleanor says, barging into the room. She flings her arms around Devi, who hugs her best friend back, laughing. 

Eleanor draws away after a moment, only just then spotting Ben there. “Oh,” she smirks, eyes flickering between the two of them. “Sorry. Did I interrupt anything?”

Ben just shakes his head, ignoring the very obvious implication that is layered in Eleanor’s words. “No, nothing,” he smirks. “We’re good here.” 

Behind Eleanor, Fabiola opens the door and walks into the room. “Happy birthday, Devi. Um, your mom wanted me to tell you to get downstairs to help her with some stuff.” 

Devi swears, looking at her vanity. “I still have to finish getting ready,” she groans. 

Ben raises his hand. “Uh, I can help your mom out. You can finish getting ready.” 

She looks at him. “Really?”

He shrugs. “Yeah. I’ll see you downstairs?” 

She nods. “Thank you, Ben.” She flashes him a heart-stopping grin, and he just barely manages to stop himself from leaning forward and pressing a kiss to her forehead. 

“No problem.” He leaves instead, pulling the door shut behind him. 

He heads down the stairs and offers his help to Nalini, who accepts with a grateful smile. The thing about Nalini is that she does not show affection in the most typical of ways, but in the way she does it is far more meaningful than false words and overbearing presents. Nalini asks him about college—specifically Yale, which is how he tells her that he’s still weighing his options, but he’s leaning towards Princeton, to which she smiles and nods to the large pennant pinned in their living room—she asks him about how he is doing, and invites him over for dinner.

He wishes he had a parent who cared as much as Nalini does. He thinks it’s worse, having parents who rely on materialism to show how much they care. The details Nalini asks him about, they mean a lot more. 

It only takes fifteen minutes for him to finish helping Nalini set everything up, and by the time they do, the house is filled with people, milling around. 

“Ben!” 

He turns around and spots Kamala walking over to him, impossibly graceful. He raises his hand in greeting, but he’s shocked when she pulls him into a tight hug. “It’s so nice to see you! Devi keeps you all to herself!” she laughs, drawing away. 

He laughs a bit awkwardly, rubbing the back of her neck. “Uh, yeah, I mean—” 

“Anyways,” Kamala says, cutting him off. “Ben, have you met my husband? This is Prashant.” 

One of the most attractive men Ben has ever seen—seriously, though, did he expect anything less from Kamala?—gives him a smile, holding out his hand. “Hey, Ben. It’s nice to meet you.” 

Ben shakes his hand, trying not to feel too insanely awkward. “Hi,” he says, unsure what to say next. 

“So,” Kamala says, smiling in a way that makes him want to cower. Fuck, he’s  _ so _ bad at this. “I hear you’re taking Devi to prom?”

“Ye—yeah,” he stammers out. “As—as friends, of course.” 

“Mmm,” Kamala says, eyes sparkling. “Yes, of course, of course.” 

Ben shifts uncomfortably on the balls of his feet, hoping he doesn’t sound too desperate when he blurts out, “Wh—what? Did she say anything?” 

Kamala’s smile just widens. “Oh, you know Devi. It’s more about what she doesn’t say than what she does.” 

Baffled, Ben just stares at her. “What does that mean?” 

“Ben!” he hears a voice call. He turns around to see Devi grinning at him, and it punches all the air right out of his lungs. Her mouth is painted pink, and he wants to run his thumb along the bottom edge of her lip, until he stains his finger, he wants to kiss her until the lipstick smears off her lips and then he wants her to put it back on again, so he can kiss it off once more. 

But it’s her hair—her hair that really shocks him, makes a gasp want to tear from his lungs. Pinned up to the side, exposing the skin of her neck—and you can’t blame him if his eyes fall to the spot where he knows a mark lies under the makeup—and spilling over her shoulder in a way that makes him want to dig his hands into it and pull her close. 

(he remembers sliding a hand into her hair at malibu and feeling how impossibly soft it was, how he never wanted to let her go, cradling her close and feeling the strands of hair brush his hand, he remembers how all he had wanted to do, for weeks after, was to slide his hands into her hair and tug her close, close, closer and—

(and he remembers how his heart broken when she had shown up a week later, hand in hand with paxton, and yet it hadn’t stopped him from wanting her any less) 

ben’s never been so egotistical to think of himself like the heroes of old, never been so full of himself. but he’s always liked greek mythology and he remembers fatal flaws. perhaps this is his fatal flaw. he wants things he can never have: his parents’ love and affection, friendship, to not feel lonely, and devi is the one thing he can never ever have) 

Ben clears his throat. “Yeah, Devi,” he croakes out, hoping he doesn’t sound as wrecked as he feels. “That’s—that’s what friends do.” 

“Yeah well, you didn’t need to help her out since it doesn’t take me a long time to look amazing,” she smirks, flipping her hair over her shoulder, “but I still really appreciate it.” 

She steps forward and slides her arms around his chest, hugging him tightly. “Thanks,” she murmurs again. 

Before he can even hug her back, she steps back, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I gotta go like, mingle,” she says, “but have fun, ok?” 

She vanishes in a cloud of jasmine and cherries, and he stares after her. 

(just like sophomore year) 

Ben pulls himself out of memories he doesn’t want to live in ever again, and turns to Eleanor. 

“So,” he grins, hoping he looks normal. “How’s it going with you?” 

He spends most of the night hanging out with Fabiola and Eleanor, trying (and failing) to not get too sucked in to Devi. She whirls, like a comet, around the room, bright and beautiful, and he wants to draw her closer to him, to pull her into him. 

He tries not to be too obvious, but from the looks Eleanor keeps shooting him, he’s not sure how well he succeeds at that. He just can’t stop staring at her hair, at the curve of her lips, pink and gleaming and wholly enticing. 

In the end, though, it’s not him who breaks, but Devi. 

He’s just come out of the bathroom, after trying to fix his hair multiple times, and when he steps out into the hallway he finds Devi standing right there. 

“Hey—” he starts, but then she’s kissing him and pushing him back into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind them. 

“So,” she murmurs. “This is a party. I’m thinking we should keep up our track record.” 

Ben chokes out a laugh when she ducks her head and drags her lips over his collarbone. “Devi, are you serious?” 

She grabs his hands and places them on her hips. “Don’t you want to?” she smirks, eyes glimmering. “A little risky, right? Doesn’t that make it hotter?” 

Ben laughs. “Not—not now, Devi. I think it’s a little too conspicuous for the both of us.” 

She pouts dramatically, that beautiful lipstick on her slightly smudged. “Are you sure?” She trails her finger up his sternum, wrapping her hand around the nape of his neck. “I can’t do anything to convince you?” She raises her eyebrow and smirks. 

Ben swallows roughly. “Uh, wh—what?” he stammers, feeling his face erupt, sure he’s as pink as her lipstick right now. 

Devi smirks, her hand moving back down his chest to curl in the belt loops of his jeans and tug him close. “Come on, Ben. It’s my birthday—” 

“Technically, tomorrow is your birthday.” 

“—and I should be allowed to have what I want, don’t I?” she simpers, batting her lashes. “You wouldn’t deny me what I want on my birthday, would you?” 

He can’t even breathe, stealing glances at her lips every ten seconds. “What—what do you want?” he rasps out. 

Devi grins, pressing her lips against his jaw, and he can feel a little bit of the lipstick she’s wearing smear off onto his skin. “What I want,” she murmurs, “is to beat you in the tally.”

He raises his eyebrows, pulling away from her. “Excuse me?” he coughs. 

“The tally, Ben,” she repeats. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten.” She slides her hands around his jeans to the button on them, flicking it open, and he nearly chokes on air. “Right now we’re tied and what I want, for my birthday, is to beat you.” 

“Again,” he wheezes. “Not your birthday.” 

Devi is a vixen, beautiful and tempting, and right now, her smirking at him, looking like a goddamn siren, is horrible for his heart. 

She’s turned the tables on him and whenever she does this, he likes it a lot. He likes whenever she tells him what to do, because he knows, for sure, that she wants it. 

She kisses his jaw. “Ben, please,” she pouts. 

He grips the counter, ducking his head down so he doesn’t have to look her in the eyes, look at those dark, dark eyes that dance with knowledge, with mischief. “Fuck, you’re terrible,” he rasps. 

“Am I really?” 

And then she drops to her knees. 

Ben nearly has an aneurysm. “Devi!” he hisses. “Not here, are you out of your  _ mind?” _

“Yes,” she says, dragging her lip into her mouth. She skims her hands up the side of his jeans, peeking up through dark lashes and she’s done this before but he thinks this is every single fantasy he had as a thirteen-year-old come to life, this is way too similar to some of the dreams he had a few nights ago of her to think she’s anything but a sorcerer, finding a way to see into his soul and his mind. 

(but she’s not, because if she really was, really was able to see into his deepest desires she would know how he feels about her and she would have run a long time ago. he knows the only reason she’s staying is because she thinks he’s stuck to this no string attached rule) 

Devi smirks at him, dragging his shirt up a bit and pressing a kiss to his stomach, right underneath his navel. “Fuck,” he gasps, hands tightening on the sink, eyes slipping shut. 

“I like this shirt you wore today,” she murmurs, nonchalantly, stroking her fingers across his stomach, his muscles clenching in involuntary response to her touch. “Did you wear it for me?” 

He nods jerkily. “Ye—yes,” he answers. “I did.” 

Devi smirks, dragging the zipper on his jeans down slowly. This is literally every single fucking dream he’s ever had and he’s actually about to die right now. “I like that. Do you like me, Ben?” 

He nods. “Yeah,” he gasps. “I really like you.” 

Her grin spreads, smug and certain. “Do you want me to do this?” 

“Please,” he chokes out. 

Her eyebrow raises high, and the grin on her face only widens. “Well, I like that answer,” she murmurs. 

And then she slips her hand into his boxers, and ducks her head, and it’s quite possibly one of the hottest moments of his life. 

He tries not to lose himself too much, but he can’t resist letting his hands dive into her hair, touching it like he’s wanted to since he saw her, gripping it, and he’s trying really,  _ really _ hard not to move his hips so he won’t hurt her, but it’s insanely difficult. 

“De—Devi,” he gasps. “Oh my god.” 

This isn’t the first blowjob he’s gotten, it’s not even the first time Devi’s done it to him, in fact, she’s done it plenty, but there’s something ridiculously hot about her doing this in the bathroom of her house at her fucking birthday party and her being so effortlessly unbothered by it that makes it insanely hot. 

He can’t even close his eyes to help him because seeing her like this is—fuck, he doesn’t want to be such a typical guy, but seeing her like this is beyond hot, beyond describable with words. And she knows exactly what he likes, exactly how to work him up and make him lose control. 

He falls apart shockingly quickly, and he barely bites back the groan that threatens to spill from his lips, but he somehow manages. She smirks, rising back up to her feet, tugging his jeans up as she does, fastening the button and doing the zipper. “Happy birthday to me.” 

He opens his eyes, chest heaving, mind spinning. “You are—so fucking hot,” he breathes. 

Devi smiles, eyes dancing. “Well,” she says. “That was really fucking hot too. Thanks for that,” she winks. 

He blushes bright, bright red. “You’re definitely insane.” 

“Yes, but you like it, don’t you?,” she laughs. She slides her hands underneath his shirt and gently drags her nails up and down his back. 

He chokes out a laugh. “You know I do.” 

“Yeah,” she says, shrugging. “But I like hearing it from you.” 

Ben slips one of his hands around her waist and tug her closer to him. “I’ll tell you how much I like your insanity and how hot you are any day of the week,” he breathes. 

She reaches up and runs her hands through his hair. “I think I’ll take you up on that.” Her eyes sparkle with emotion. “Thank you for today,” she murmurs. 

Ben laughs. “I think I’m the one who should be telling you that.” He slides his hands up to her hair, relishing in the feeling of cradling her head once more. “I didn’t pull your hair, did I?” 

She shakes her head. “No,” she whispers. “You’re good.” She reaches up, rubbing her thumb along the lipstick marks she left on his jaw. “But you really didn’t have to help out, you know.” 

He clutches her closer. “I wanted to.” 

For a second he thinks she might push a little more, ask the question she has always run away from.  _ Why? _

And he wouldn’t even know how to answer this, only that all he wants to do for the rest of his life is to fall at her feet. 

(ben does not believe in gods, does not believe in religion and mythic deities, but he does believe in her, and devi is the only thing he wants to worship for the rest of his life. ben has always looked for something to believe in, something to venerate, and she is it) 

But she doesn’t. She doesn’t push him, simply leans forward and presses her lips against his. He kisses her back, kisses her hard, determined to get rid of the rest of the lipstick on her mouth, to reveal the natural pink of her lips and to make her lips swollen from the pressure of his mouth against hers. 

“So,” he murmurs, trailing his lips from her mouth to scatter kisses along the length of her jaw, delighting in the soft, almost silent sigh she lets out as he does so, her hands diving into his hair and running through it, mussing it up. “You gave me a present on your birthday. Do you want one?” 

Devi laughs. “I think if you gave me a present it would take mine away, remember?” 

“Yeah, but does that mean you don’t want one?” She moans when he nips at her neck, careful to not leave a mark too dark for when they leave. “It is your birthday.” 

“Not—not today,” she murmurs. “I just want you to kiss me.” 

Ben pulls back. “You want me to kiss you?” he repeats, a bit dumbly. 

She nods, fingers stroking through his hair. “Yeah. Make up for all the kisses I missed in the week you were gone.” 

He scans her face, looking into those dark eyes for a hint of deception, but her face is honest and open and this is the most she has ever bared her soul to him. This is the most she has ever opened up to him. 

(it is not, but he does not remember new year’s eve, he does not remember what she said about malibu, and perhaps the greatest tragedy of this whole thing is that neither of them are brave enough on their own to face things) 

He smiles, a little sad, at that, that she only really opens up during sex and physical intimacy, but he’ll take what he can get. “Ok,” he whispers, fingers stroking the nape of her neck. “I’ll kiss you.” 

He leans forward, and stops just before he brushes her lips. “Promise me you’ll wear this lipstick again?” 

She laughs. “Would I be wearing it for you, Ben? You know how I feel about that.” 

“Hmm,” he hums. “Well, how about this? You wear it for yourself, and however I react to that is on me? And if that happens to involve me kissing you more, that’s just part of my reaction.” 

“I think I can get behind that,” she agrees. 

“Good. Now, I’m going to kiss you.” He lets his eyes flutter shut, hand tilting her head up just a bit so her mouth brushes his a bit more firmly. 

“Finally,” she breathes, her hand curling into his collar to tug him closer, and she sighs when his lips crash with hers. 

One week apart from her, and it felt like a lifetime, so he pulls her closer, dreading when he finally, inevitably, has to let her go. 

* * *

Devi brushes her fingers over her cheek, pulling her hair back from her face so she can see a bit better. 

“Hey, kanna,” Nalini says, smiling softly. 

Devi looks up at her mother and smiles. Everyone is gone, even Kamala and Prashant, and it’s just them in her house now. Her birthdays are always difficult, especially since she lost her dad. 

(she’d turned fourteen and a week later her father had died and so it’s always difficult for her, always hard to remember him and who he was around this time, but it’s gotten a bit easier over time. it’ll never be ok, not wholly, and there will always be some part of her that is broken, but it will not be her most prominent part. she’s sure of that) 

“Hi, Mom.” 

Nalini reaches out and smooths down Devi’s hair, leaning forward and pressing her lips to the crown of her forehead. “How was today?” she asks. 

She looks down and fiddles with her hands. “It was good, Mom.” 

“I know your birthdays are always difficult, especially because of your father, but I was hoping that you had a good time for this one.” 

She smiles at her mom, a little sad, but a lot grateful. “I did.” 

Nalini smiles at her. “I’m proud of you,” she murmurs. “I hope you know that.” 

Devi nods. “I know, Mom.” 

(and it’s strange, devi realizes, how much she wanted to hear those words, how much she wanted them, more than anything, and she has heard them before, has heard them from her mother’s lips, and yet they are still so gratifying. all devi has ever wanted to do was make her mother happy) 

“You’ve become such a lovely young woman, Devi.” Nalini sighs. “I wish your father could see you right now.” 

Devi leans over and lets her head rest on her mom’s shoulder. “He can, Mom.” 

Nalini rubs her arm, soothing and careful and comforting. She presses another kiss to Devi’s forehead, and Devi leans into her touch, letting her eyes flutter shut. “I love you, Devi.” 

“I love you too.” 

(there are times before that devi has questioned if her mother loves her, if she really actually loves her and that is a difficult thing to question. you don’t ever really come back from it, don’t really come back from that moment of uncertainty, but she has not had that moment in years and she doesn’t think she will again, because of what happened at malibu and and how that knotted them back together) 

Her mother smells so good, like turmeric and home and everything comforting in life, and Devi buries her head in her mother’s chest harder, staving off the desire to cry. 

“I’m sorry,” Nalini murmurs. 

Devi pulls back, blinking at her mom. “What?” 

“I’m sorry for being so harsh on you sometimes.” Her mother strokes her hair. “You are an amazing young woman, Devi. You did that all on your own. Independent and kind and strong. I am very proud of you.” 

(she can’t help but notice how similar her mother’s description of her matches how she thinks of her mother, and this is their big downfall sometimes—they are too similar to want to listen to each other) 

“You did a lot, Mom.” 

Her mother smiles a little bitterly. “It was mostly your father.” 

She can’t deny that her father had shaped her, had done so much for her but—he is not here anymore. She is as much her mother’s daughter as she is her father’s. 

“It was you too, Mom. You’re awesome.” 

Nalini nods seriously. “Well, yes, this I knew, but thank you. I had to be awesome to have an awesome daughter.” 

Devi laughs, hugging her mom once more before pulling away. “I’m gonna crash, Mom. See you later.” 

“Sleep early, kanna,” Nalini remarks. “Don’t stay up on your phone.” 

Devi heads up to her room, a bit drained, and she slumps against the door when she shuts it, eyes fluttering shut. She’s exhausted but happy, and this day is a lot better than most birthdays she’s had. 

She misses her father and that will never stop, but she’s ok. 

Devi pushes herself off her door and changes, pulling the pins out of her hair and wiping her makeup off, tossing her pajamas on and tying her hair up into a bun. She runs her fingers over the presents that her friends got her, mostly cards, the occasional box and bag, left on her desk, curious. 

She can’t help but let her eyes drift to the neatly wrapped set of two boxes on the far right of her desk, and when she picks it up she recognizes Ben’s neat handwriting on the card stuck to the outside of the envelope stuck to the top of the top box. 

Chewing her lip, she pushes his present to the side and forces herself to open the rest of them first. Her mother had gotten her a new phone, Kamala and Prashant had gotten her a speaker system for college, and Eleanor and Fabiola had chipped in on a present together to get her yearly subscriptions to three of her favorite celebrity gossip magazines. She hates that her friends know her so well. 

Everyone else is largely generic gifts, gift cards and cash that she carefully tucks away in her desk, setting them aside for the various things she needs and can’t afford on her own. 

The last present she opens is Ben’s. Two small boxes, and she has absolutely no idea what could be inside them. 

First, of course, she pulls the card off of the top of the box and rips the envelope open, opening the card. 

She doesn’t know what she expected to see written in the card, but it’s still disappointing. 

(what was she expecting? a declaration of love, everlasting devotion, something about the depth of his feelings for her? why does she want something she’s never going to get? what can’t her heart understand about this? she keeps hoping for something she will never get, and yet it still hurts every time she is reminded she won’t ever get it)

Devi runs her fingers over her name on the card, followed by a simple birthday message, and then his name. Ben writes her name beautifully, calligraphy and swooping curls and unnecessarily pretentious, but she likes it. 

It’s just—they’re friends, right? Why didn’t he write anything more? Maybe, maybe he just doesn’t want to write anything for her because he doesn’t have anything nice to say about her and she doesn’t blame him for that and—

She swallows down those very unpleasant thoughts and sets the card aside, hand shaking as she reaches for the box. 

Devi tears the wrapping off of the box, rather ungracefully, finding a crushed blue velvet box, and she knits her eyebrows, running her nail along the seam. 

She flicks open the box, and what’s in it nearly takes her breath away. 

“Oh, Ben,” she murmurs, even though he can’t hear her. Devi reaches out and gently runs her finger along the edge of the chain, going down to the pendant. 

(she’s such a fucking sap and she can’t believe how he manages to make her feel absolutely everything) 

It’s a harp and she remembers a few months ago, telling him that she plays the harp for her father, and she can’t believe he remembered.

But she doesn’t know  _ why _ she’s surprised. Ben has always managed to give her what she’s wanted without her even knowing it. Without her even knowing that that is what she needs. 

She lifts the pendant out of the box and lets it dangle from her hand, watching it shine in the light. It’s lovely, golden, and knowing Ben it’s probably real gold because he’s a pretentious asshole who likes to spoil his friends—if the excessive presents he had gotten for Eleanor’s birthday served as any reminder—and it’s probably the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen. 

She blinks back tears. He’s so fucking thoughtful, and she can’t believe she threw him away in sophomore year. 

Devi tucks the necklace back into the velvet and closes the box, scared that if she looks at it for one more second, she might not be able to breathe.

It’s the second present, though, that rips the air straight from her lungs and makes her blood run ice cold. Beyond ice cold, really. It feels like every single cell in her body is frozen and she thinks she might pass out. 

She manages—somehow, she’s not quite sure—to get her hand to move, and it shakes as she reaches for the small bottle tucked away in the packaging, the writing on the side clearly visible. 

The bottle is filled with sand and smells like the sea and it says  _ Malibu, California _ on the side and fuck he  _ remembers.  _

In all of her—thinking about Malibu she never really let herself think about how much it must have meant to him because—because that’s going down a slippery slope she knows she can never recover from. 

Because coming to terms with Malibu means coming to terms with everything that happened—or didn’t happen after she ran and the fact that he remembers everything. 

(she remembers every single moment of that day. it is seared into her brain like a permanent scar, a lasting memory. it’s beyond a simple recollection that can be jaded by faulty memory. malibu is burned into her brain, a brand, a part of her coded into her dna. just like ben is) 

Somehow though, the knowledge that it clearly meant as much to him as it did to her hits her like a brick wall. 

It’s a car crash on her systems, collision after collision after collision, and she doesn’t think it’s possible to recover from this one. 

(because if she really hurt ben as much as she knows she did, she can’t ever imagine him lov—loving her. and she’s not sure that she wants him to love her but she knows she wants more from him—more things she has no business wanting) 

She can’t look at this any longer, and so she stuffs the bottle back in the box, hands shaking, and tucks it away, beneath the harp pendant, in her dresser drawer. 

* * *

Ben opens his door the next morning to find Devi standing on his doorstep. 

“Uh, hey,” he says. “I didn’t know you were coming over today?” 

She chews on her lip, stepping into his foyer. “Hey.” 

Ben steps back and shuts the door behind her, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Can—do you need something? Help?” 

Devi whirls around, fingers playing with her cardigan. “No I’m—I’m good.” 

She glances around. “Is anyone home?” 

Ben raises an eyebrow, suddenly catching on to what she is saying. “No,” he says. “It’s just me. My parents are gone. I told Patty to go home. I don’t need her help with anything.” 

“They’re gone already?” 

He smiles bitterly at her. “Can’t remember the last time they spent a full week at home, to be honest. They just don’t care all that much.” 

Devi nods. “Right. Ok.” 

Ben steps closer to her, watching as her throat bobs. “Devi,” he murmurs, voice pitching a bit lower than he intends. “It’s your birthday. What are you doing here?”

Her hands shake the slightest bit, but she steps closer to him, slides her hand up his chest and cups his jaw, fingers stroking over the nape of his neck. “I—” she starts. She stops, swallows roughly. “I missed you.” 

He smiles. “You didn’t get enough last night?” 

She shakes her head. “No. You don’t think one night can make up for a whole week, can you?” 

He laughs, fingers playing with the edge of her cardigan. “No, I guess it was pretty dumb of me to think it could.” 

“Well, considering how dumb you are, I’m really not that surprised.” 

“Considering it’s your birthday, I’m gonna let that one slide,” he murmurs. 

She loops her arms around his neck. “How magnanimous of you, Gross,” she smirks, her eyes sparkling. Devi leans in, and he knows if he were to kiss her right now she would taste like cherries, and somehow, he knows his clothes already smell like jasmine, and will linger long after she is gone. 

He leans in, gently tugging on her lower lip with his teeth. “Vocabulary skills have improved considerably in the week I’ve been gone,” he murmurs. “Pick up a book?” 

“I read more than you,” she whispers, lips brushing his own. “You know that, right?” 

He laughs. “No, you don’t,” he says, or, at least tries to say, before her lips press against his, hands carding through his hair. He wraps his arms around her waist and tugs her flush against him, kissing her harder, tracing his tongue along the seam of her lips until she opens her mouth to him and he can taste cherries. 

She curves her body closer into his, her curves melting into his and he wants to keep her with him, to get rid of all the space between them. 

(even on a subatomic level, he wants to get rid of the space between them, press their atoms against one another, and even though the laws of atomic theory dictate that matter cannot occupy the same space, he wishes, for a split second, to break that, to defy the laws of the universe so they might be together, in the same space, even for a nanosecond. that is all he needs. 

(this is a lie. a nanosecond is not enough, of course not, if forever isn’t enough with her, a nanosecond is certainly not enough) 

he finds comfort in science, but even more than that, he finds comfort in devi) 

She shifts her mouth and presses her lips against his jaw, and he tilts his head, scoring his thumbs across her cheek. “It’s your birthday, Devi,” he murmurs. “Mind if I gave you your present? Even if it upsets the tally?”

Devi pulls back, eyes dragging over his face. “You—you already did, didn’t you?” she whispers. 

“I can have more than one present to give, can’t I?” he murmurs. He slides his hands down to her thighs and hoists her up, her legs wrapping around his waist. “And, since no one’s here, I can give you it wherever I want.” 

He walks her forward to the kitchen counter and drops her on it, standing in the vee of her legs. “So,” he whispers, trailing his fingers down her side. “Is here ok?” 

“It’s—different, for once,” she chokes out. “Glad to see you’ve thought of a new place.” 

“What, the piano still wasn’t enough to impress you?” he grins, peeling her cardigan off her body, pressing kisses to her neck as he does so. 

His lips brush metal and he stops cold, pulling back to stare at her. The necklace he got her—the harp pendant—is currently resting on her sternum, low enough so that he didn’t see it before, covered by her cardigan. 

She got his  _ present. _

She must have gotten the other one, too. Which means she knows that—that he’s trying to reach out. Trying to talk about this, if only to—to maybe soothe his heart. 

“Ben?” she murmurs, opening her eyes. He jolts back, eyes darting back up to her face. “Are you ok?” 

He nods, swallowing roughly. “Y—yeah,” he whispers. “I’m fine.” 

Leaning forward he kisses her, as softly as he can, fingers tenderly making their way down her body, brushing the valley between her breasts, slipping underneath the cotton of her shirt to smooth around the plane of her stomach and spread across her back, heat bleeding from her skin into his. She pulls back, sucking in a breath, but keeps her eyes closed.

“Your hands are freakishly warm,” she sighs, head dropping onto his collarbone. “It’s nice.”

“Yes, David,” he laughs. “We both know just how much you like my hands.” 

“Fine motor skills,” she whispers, eyes fluttering in bliss as he strokes his fingers up and down her back. “It’s not much of an accomplishment, Gross. Barely separates you from an ape.” 

He scrapes his teeth over her collarbone, and she moans, one hand curling around his waist while the other curls around the edge of the counter. “You’re really going to talk to me about apes and humans as I give you your present?” he drawls. 

“You know I never miss an opportunity to show off my intelligence,” Devi says. 

Ben curls his hands around her shirt and pulls it off, letting her hair tumble down around her shoulders, and he can’t stop himself from leaning forward and pressing his lips to her shoulder, hands smoothing over her hair. 

“Really?” He kisses down her chest—carefully avoiding the pendant—and tugs her leggings off, running his hands back up her legs. “Tell me something interesting.” 

Devi arches her back when he undoes the front clasp of her bra, gently running his thumb along the curve of her breast, over the spots where it’s cut into her skin slightly. “Um, what do you wanna hear about?” 

“Anything,” Ben murmurs. “Remember?” 

“Hot when smart,” she says. “I know.” 

Ben tugs off her underwear and kisses her hip, like he always does. For some reason, it is coded into his memory whenever they sleep together. He presses his lips to her skin and makes her feel good. He loves knowing exactly where to touch her to make her feel good, make her moan his name and sigh in bliss. 

“I’m waiting, Devi,” he murmurs. He slides his fingers into her, watching as her eyes slip shut, biting back a wince when her nails dig into his back. “Come on.” 

“Do—do you know about the debate on what caused the fall of Rome?” she gasps, tilting her head to the side. 

He recognizes the silent command and lifts his head up, pressing his lips to the side of her neck to suck another mark into her skin, to leave them scattered over her chest and shoulders like he hasn’t done in  _ forever. _

(max, like, two weeks)

“I think you do,” he murmurs, against her jaw, scraping his teeth down the length of it. “Why don’t you tell me about it?” 

She chokes out a laugh as he twists his hand inside of her, pressing his fingers against her more firmly. “I—I thought this was my birthday present.” 

“That’s true,” he concedes. “It is your birthday present. But I think you’re enjoying this. Tell me what you want me to do.” 

“Go faster, Ben,” she gasps. 

“I’ll go faster if you talk,” he murmurs. 

She chokes out a laugh as he flicks his thumb over her clit, hair tumbling down her back as she throws her head back to suck in lungfuls of air. “You’re such a fucking nerd.” 

“I take pride in that, actually,” he murmurs, just before he kisses her. 

She gasps against his mouth, clearly not expecting it, and he smiles against her lips, pleased at having caught her off guard. Devi kisses him back, her fingers skimming up to cup his jaw, curving into him. “Only you would take pride in being a nerd.” She pulls away, tilting her head to the side performatively, eyes sparkling at him. “Gotta justify all that time you spend studying trying to beat me.” 

In response he just leans forward and scrapes his teeth over the hollow of her throat. “Devi. Come on. Talk to me.” 

She gasps when he picks up the speed, gently, slowly, almost languidly. “Ok, ok. Uh, so the—the most straightforward explanation is that bar—barbarian tribes invaded Rome and caused its downfall,” she gasps, clutching him tight. “But it’s—likely not the whole reason because it was Rome, and a few tribes couldn’t take the whole city down.” 

He drops slow, purposeful kisses up and down the line of her neck, nipping at her skin with his teeth and soothing it with his tongue ever so often. 

Shifting his hand, he presses a bit firmer against her and savors as she breaks, gentle and gradual, a slow descent and a slow recovery. 

When her breathing slows, he ducks down and covers her mouth with his, kissing her firmly but gently, coaxing a moan out of her. He’s patient and he’ll wait for her, as long as it takes. 

Ben slides his free hand up her back and slants his mouth over hers harder, drawing more sounds out of her, kissing her until he thinks she needs oxygen, and then, only then, does he pull back, reluctantly.

“Keep talking,” he murmurs, sucking a hickey where her neck and shoulder meet.

Devi opens her eyes, sucking in air, her lashes fluttering. “You still wanna go?” 

He eases his hand out of her and kisses her shoulder, dragging his teeth down her body, scraping it over the curve of her breast as she bucks into him, just a bit. “Your birthday, Devi,” he murmurs. “Everything you want today. I’m not quite done giving you everything you deserve.” 

A half-sob, half-laugh escapes her as her hands wind into his hair, tugging on it when he nips at the curve of her thigh. “What’s that?” 

“All the time in the world,” he whispers. “You deserve that. Every inch of you deserves to be worshipped.” 

She scrapes her nails against his scalp, and he smooths his hand over her back when he hears her breath stutter a bit, when she starts breathing a bit shakier. “Are you ok?”

He raises his head to look up at her, but she pushes it back down with her hand. “I’m fine,” she says. “Fi—fine. I’ll keep talking, just—you keep going.” 

Despite the fact that he’s not 100% sure he believes her, it’s her birthday and he wants to give her everything she wants, so he drops it. “Ok,” he whispers. “What else?” 

“Uh—money—money problems,” she chokes out, when he flattens his tongue against her and sweeps up, sure but slow. “All those stupid wars,” she whimpers, when he shifts, tugs her a little closer. He takes his time, lazily dragging his tongue over her, working her up slow, relishing in how her thighs shake around his ears. “And the military’s—overspending, because of—of course.” 

Ben moves his mouth, changing the pressure of his tongue against her and easing back a bit, taking his time, like he promised, with her. 

Her pinky brushes the shell of his ear as she pulls on his hair, and she chokes when he flicks his tongue over her clit, purposefully, deliberately. “Plus—plus a healthy dose of government corruption and political instability, of course. Bunch of incompetent emperors at the end.” 

She gasps when he drags his teeth over her clit, lightly, but from the way her heel scrapes against his back, he can tell she felt it in every inch of her body, and he tightens his grip on her waist impossibly more. 

Backing off, savoring the whimper of protest she lets out, he sucks a mark into the side of her thigh, pressing a kiss to it when the skin is red. “So Caesar was impressive?” he smirks, referring to an argument they had a few weeks ago. 

“Not as much as Cleopatra,” she corrects, hissing in relief when he moves back, stroking against her harder. 

“Almost there, Devi,” he whispers. “Almost there, just keep talking.” 

“And—and then you have the final, more racist theories that of course deal with other civilizations,” she breathes, her hips bucking into his hands, fingers pulling tighter at his hair. He swirls his tongue against her, and a cry bursts from her throat, loud and visceral, and he tempers down the surge of pride that rises in him. “Eastern Empire, the barbaric Huns, the whole—fuck, fuck, Ben, ok, I’m—” 

She falls apart more intensely this time, thighs shaking harder around his ears, but the sigh of contentment she lets out when she finally comes back down from her high makes it all worth it. Makes everything worth it, all of the heartbreak. 

(for now, at least) 

Ben presses his lips up her side, slowly, smiling when she squirms. “Ben, that tickles,” she grumbles. 

“Get used to it,” he shoots back, sucking a mark just below her breast. 

“Dick,” she mutters, but there’s no venom to it. 

“I know you are, but what am I?” he laughs, kissing up her chest so they can be face to face once more. 

“What are you, five?” she snorts, undoing the buttons on his shirt to push it off his shoulders. 

“More mature than you.” He ducks his head down and presses his lips to hers, and she relaxes into his touch, kissing him back just as gently. He doesn’t even try to tangle his tongue with hers, simply giving her a chaste, closed mouth kiss that he feels in every inch of his chest. 

“Please,” she gasps, pulling away. “There’s no way that’s true.” She runs her hand down his chest, trailing the lines of his chest with her fingertips slowly and methodically, across the space of his stomach, dragging her nails across his abs gently.

“Devi,” he says, smirking. “What are you doing?” 

“It’s my birthday, Gross,” she responds flippantly. “I’ll touch you as much as I want to.”

“Efficient use of your time,” he laughs, brushing back a strand of her hair. 

“Oh yeah, I think so too.” 

He trails his hand down the curve of her neck, brushing the backs of his fingers down her throat, and when he reaches the necklace, he runs his finger down the chain until he comes to the pendant, nervously running his fingers across it. “Do you like it?” he murmurs. 

He wonders what is in her eyes as she looks at him, but he doesn’t quite have the bravery to look at her right now. 

(when he had bought the pendant, specially ordered, of course, because he couldn’t help himself, he’d wanted something that showed he cared about her, that he listened to her. that he—) 

Her throat bobs as she says, “Yeah. I love it.” 

“I’m glad.” 

Devi takes in a breath, slow, shuddering, careful. She sounds wracked, and her nails dig into his side, almost painfully. 

“And—and the other present I—” 

She curls her hand around the nape of his neck and crashes her lips against his, her hand running down his chest. She sinks her teeth into his lip, her legs locking around his waist. “I don’t wanna talk right now,” she breathes, pulling away from him and nipping at his neck. 

“Devi, I—” 

“It’s my birthday,” she purrs, peering up at him through dark lashes, and her lower lip is pink and swollen from his kisses, and her hair is mussed from him running his hands through it and he can see all of the red marks that litter her body from this angle. 

She looks wrecked because of him and she still wants more, and even though he looks relatively composed compared to her, he is under no qualms about who is more destroyed here. “It’s my birthday,” she says, leaning in even closer so she can whisper in his ear, her calf skimming up his back, “and I don’t want to talk right now.” 

(he should have known that—that trying to get her to talk wouldn’t work because devi cannot be pushed into things, or she runs. she has to choose to come to him, and he was a fool for hoping any different) 

“Fine,” he growls, gripping her hips a bit tightly. “You don’t want to talk? We won’t talk.” He brushes her hair to the side and sinks his teeth into her neck,  _ hard, _ hard enough that she lets out a startled gasp. 

“Ben.” 

He pulls back, eyes flicking over her face. 

God, he needs her, he wants her, he is a little in love with her and this is the closest he’ll get to ever really having her. One day, it’ll stop being enough, and that is the day he will break his own heart. 

But that day hasn’t come yet. 

“What, Devi?” 

She just looks at him, and he wishes he were able to read her mind, to figure out what she is thinking, but he cannot. He cannot sift through the geologic layers that lie in her eyes. He cannot chip away at rock that has been building up for eons. 

And then she blinks and even the emotion is gone and she’s shaking her head, tugging him in for another kiss. “Nothing,” she whispers. 

“It’s nothing.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> your comments and kudos make me happier than devi reading celebrity gossip! come talk to me about the show! you can find me on tumblr: @[parkersedith](https://parkersedith.tumblr.com)


	14. act xiv: we get so lonely, we pretend that this works

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _(they have never done this before, but pressing her body against him in this way, it feels like it is where she has always supposed to be. like everything in her life had brought her here, to this moment, safe in his arms. his hand is warm on the small of her back, pulling her securely into him, and she tightens her other hand on his arm, breathing him in slowly)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was brought to you by rose's feats in finishing her homework this morning and cori's penchant for getting high late at night
> 
> hey guys! we are getting so close to the end of this fic, i kind of can't believe it! only two more chapters to go after this. i've been telling my friends chapter 14 is like, a big chapter, and after finishing it, i know i'm right. i had a lot of fun writing this one, and i can't wait for you guys to read it! you guys are really really amazing and i can't wait to see what you guys think! 
> 
> major, major, major thanks to leila for beta'ing the first part of this chapter, and for the science, as always 
> 
> due to covid, i didn't get a lot of senior year experiences that i wanted to, so i'm living vicariously through ben and devi, especially with this chapter. as such, i hope you guys enjoy!
> 
> i'd also like to apologize in advance for this chapter
> 
> (chapter title from “drew barrymore" by sza)
> 
> ok, thanks guys!!! enjoy!!!

Prom night dawns far sooner than Devi wants to think about. 

May passes in a blur of studying for AP exams, both of which she and Ben throw themselves into—or at least, they try to, senior year makes that damn near impossible and she loses track of how many times they study together only for Ben to succeed in distracting her. 

She would be bothered by it, but it’s not like she doesn’t do the same to him, so it doesn’t matter much. 

But then AP exams are done, and classes become even  _ more _ nonexistent after that and Devi couldn’t tell you on pain of life what they learn in the last few weeks of May, caught up in finishing up the details for prom—Ben’s going to take her there, and they’ll meet Fabiola and Eleanor—to really conceptualize and process that prom is approaching. 

Until, of course, it’s the afternoon of prom, and Devi opens her door to find Rebecca Hall-Yoshida standing on her doorstep, smirking at her, holding a curler in one hand and what looks like a medieval torture device in the other hand, a bag at her feet. 

(she knows what an eyelash curler looks like, by the way, but it’s still freaky to see)

“Hey, Vishwakumar,” she snorts. “Ready for this?” 

Devi blinks at her. “What the hell are you doing here?” 

She and Rebecca had become fairly close friends while she and Paxton had been dating, and she supposes there is something to be said that Rebecca had never been third-wheeling when she hung out with her and Paxton. But—they’d broken up, and Devi had sort of accepted the reality that she’d lost Rebecca in the break up. 

They text semi-regularly, and she knows Rebecca is back from college—has been for about a month now, but she didn’t expect her to show up now.

Rebecca snorts, marching into Devi’s house, leaving Devi to grab her bag. “You didn’t think I was going to let you go to senior prom looking like  _ that, _ right?” 

Devi looks down at herself. “Well, I mean, I have a—a dress,” she protests, trying to defend herself. 

Rebecca snorts. “Please. If you think all you need for prom is a nice dress and some shoes, you’re more delirious than I thought. Come on. Just because you broke up with my brother doesn’t mean I can’t help you. And, from what I’ve seen—” she pauses, slowly looking her up and down, “—you need a  _ lot _ of help.” 

Devi’s mouth drops open, offended. “I—” 

“Oh, can it, Devi,” Rebecca says, strutting forward and scanning her critically. “Just show me up to your room so we can get started.” 

“Get—get started?” Devi nearly shrieks. “It’s three pm!” 

“Yeah, and we have to leave for prom at six. God, Devi, did last year teach you  _ nothing?” _ Rebecca scoffs, rolling her eyes. 

“You must be  _ crazy _ if you think it’s going to take me three hours to get ready,” she splutters. 

Rebecca places a hand on her hip, tilting her head to the side. “I know what I’m doing, Devi. Now, come on. Let’s get you ready.” 

She reaches out and wraps her hand around Devi’s wrist, tugging her up the stairs and pushing Devi down on the stool. “Now,” she says. “What color is your prom dress?” 

“Uh, red,” she stammers out. 

Rebecca grins, slightly mischievous, and it makes Devi’s stomach coil in uncertainty. “Perfect. Red will bring out the warm tones in your skin, so we’re gonna focus your makeup on golds and browns, shimmers, not mattes, of course, red lipstick, because everyone likes red lipstick.” She glances around the room. “Where’s your dress?” 

“The—there,” Devi points at the garment bag hanging on the inner side of the door of her closet. 

Rebecca walks over and unzips the garment bag, running her fingers over the dress, pursing her lips and nodding. “Well, it’s a very good choice,” she says. “Highlights your collarbone and your neck, without being too revealing. Who’s your date?” 

“Uh, Ben.” 

Rebecca snorts at that, lips pulling into a smile. “The guy who was super in love with you while you were dating my brother?” 

Devi blinks at her. “Wh—how do you know that?” 

“Oh, Devi.” Rebecca clucks her tongue at her. “I know everything. Didn’t you learn that when you were dating my brother?” 

This is true. 

“Well, we’re just friends,” Devi comments, turning back around to her vanity, so she doesn’t have to feel the weight of Rebecca’s eyes on her. “That’s it.” 

Rebecca walks over from the dress and starts pulling several items out of her bag, all increasingly horrific. “Yeah, just friends. That’s what we’re calling people who leave hickeys all over your neck, got it. I’ll make sure to pass that on to my boyfriend. Sorry, my friend.” 

Devi gapes at her. “What?” 

Rebecca shakes her head. “You suck at this,” she sighs. She steps behind Devi and grabs a brush, dragging it gently through Devi’s hair. “Come on, Devi. I know you’re sleeping with him.” 

She feels her face flush as red as her dress as Rebecca continues to brush her hair, methodically, gently, untangling it with care. “I—what?” 

“It’s kind of obvious, you know. Like, I’m brilliant, but an idiot could spot this from a mile away.” 

“Spot—spot what?” she stammers out. 

Rebecca smiles wryly. “How you feel about him. How he feels about you. It’s obvious.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Becca,” she says, crossing her arms. 

“You’re being obstinate on purpose, Devi.” Rebecca tugs a bit harshly on her hair, and Devi winces, hand coming up to rub at the sore spot. “You know what I’m talking about. But I think I’ll let it go, just this once. Now, come on. Talk to me. How’s Sherman Oaks been without me around?” 

“Boring as hell,” Devi answers instantly, happy when a pleased smile crosses Rebecca’s face. 

“Fuck yeah, it has.” 

Devi tries to stay still as Rebecca twists her hair up into a bun, and then spritzes it with some spray, then pulls it out of the bun and brushes his out, leaving it to spill over her shoulders. She also tries her very best not to flinch as Rebecca approaches her eyes with a black pencil, but manages to restrain herself, thankfully not losing an eye on prom night. 

Rebecca smirks when she’s finally done, capping the lipstick. “Perfect,” she says, but just as Devi turns around to get a look at herself, Rebecca grips her shoulders and pulls her back to face her. “Not yet, you eager little thing. You have to put the dress on and see the whole thing altogether.” 

“Becca,” Devi whines, a little put out. “It’s been like, two hours. I want to see.” 

Rebecca wags her finger at her. “I’m sorry, Ms. Vishwakumar, but you can’t see until we’re done. Black heels, right?” 

Devi sighs. “Yes.” 

“Good.” Rebecca steals a blanket from Devi’s bed and drapes it over her mirror, so she can’t see herself. “Go put your dress on, and then I’m going to come in and take the blanket off. Trust me, I will  _ know _ if you peek.” 

Devi scowls, but she knows that Rebecca  _ will _ know. “You’re mean, Becca.” 

Rebecca just snorts. “Get over it. I just spent like, two hours transforming you. You look fucking fantastic, thanks to me—but you are already gorgeous—and I want you to see everything at once.” 

She sighs. “Ok, fine, Becca. Let me get dressed.” 

Rebecca grins. “Amazing.” She claps her hands together and whirls around, blonde hair flying in the air. “Just let me know when you’re ready!”

Despite herself, Devi can’t stifle a smile as she shuts the door behind Rebecca. She sighs, hands shaking as she smooths them over her torso. 

(as friends, she reminds herself, but she still wants more) 

She quickly gets dressed, the dress falling securely heavy on her shoulders. Backless, held up by thin straps and dipping to the center of her chest in a V, she’d felt stunning the moment she’d put it on. She can’t help but hope Ben finds her stunning as well. 

Devi smooths her hands over the full gown, falling to the floor, satin-smooth against her fingers. She reaches over and puts on her jewelry; small gold hoops and the necklace Ben gave her, nothing else, before slipping into her black heels. 

“O—ok, Becca,” Devi calls. “I’m ready.” 

Rebecca waltzes into the room a second later, eyes immediately scanning her. “Good,” she nods. She reaches out and adjusts the way her dress falls, pursing her lips. “Your hair looks good, your makeup is good.” She winks. “Make sure to take the lipstick with you so you can reapply as necessary.” 

Devi blushes as bright as her dress. “But how do I—I look?” 

Rebecca softens, stepping forward and smiling at her, eyes wide and bright and sincere. “You look amazing, Devi.” She steps back towards Devi’s vanity, grabbing her perfume and dotting it on her neck and wrists, before curling her hands around the blanket. “Ready?” 

Devi takes a deep breath. “Yeah.” 

Rebecca yanks off the sheet, and smiles as she spots the look on Devi’s face. “Wow,” she says. “I’m ever better than I thought.” 

She stares at herself in the mirror, not quite able to recognize the person who’s staring back at her. “Oh, Becca.” Devi steps forward and touches the mirror. “You’re a miracle worker.”

Rebecca’s let her hair spill down over her shoulders in light, loose curls, has painted her lips red and lined them with kohl, dusted with gold shimmer, and she looks  _ beautiful. _ She  _ feels _ beautiful. 

“Oh, I am, but not when it comes to you,” Rebecca says, smiling. “You’re gorgeous all on your own, you know that?” 

Devi smiles, careful not to mess up her makeup, and tugs Rebecca in for a hug. “Thank you,” she whispers. “For being here.” 

Rebecca hugs her back. “I know you and Paxton weren’t like, meant to be, or anything, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t love you. I still do. You’re a great friend.” 

She smiles, pulling away from her and careful not to let tears spill down her cheek. “I love you too, Becca.” 

“Now!” Rebecca laughs and claps her hands together. “Your date is coming to pick you up in a few minutes, no?” 

Devi glances at her phone. “Yeah, at six.” 

“Come  _ on, _ then.” She grabs a gold clutch and starts tossing things into it—Devi’s wallet, an extra tube of lipstick, her phone. “Let’s  _ go.” _

Devi walks downstairs to find her mother sitting at the kitchen table, glasses perched on her nose, writing something down. “Mom?”

Nalini glances up and smiles. “Well,” she breathes, sitting back in her seat. “You look beautiful, kanna. Are you excited for tonight?” 

Devi smiles, her hands clutching the clasp a bit nervously. “Y—yeah, Mom.” 

“You and Benjamin are going as friends?” 

Devi nods. 

“Hmmm,” Nalini says, eyes twinkling. “Very well. Now,” she says, standing up. “Let me get a few photos of you alone, before that boy comes.” 

“Kamala and Prashant?” 

“On their way,” Nalini says, pulling out her camera. “Ok, let me get a few photos.” 

She lets her mother take however many photos of her as she wants, Kamala and Prashant as well when they ring the doorbell, but the nerves keep creeping up. 

At exactly six, though, the doorbell rings, and she knows it’s Ben. Kamala places a hand on her arm. “You ready?” 

Devi takes in a deep breath, her hand coming up to touch the pendant resting at her neck. 

(it’s ben. it’s ben. always) 

“Yeah,” she says. 

Kamala opens the door, a knowing smile playing at her lips. “Have fun,” she whispers. 

Ben steps in the door, and his eyes land on her, and his lips curl up into a smile almost instantly, a corsage made of red gladioli clutched in his hands. She’s clutching his boutonniere so tight she’s sure she would crush it if not for the box. “Oh, wow,” he breathes. 

Devi tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Hi.” 

She has never seen his eyes shine so bright. “Hi yourself,” he says back. 

She resists the urge to run her tongue over her lips, and she wants to kiss him so badly, more than anything in the world, but she can’t—not when her family is just in the next room. 

“How—how do I look?” 

“Beautiful,” he answers, instantly, moving closer to her. He reaches out and gently drags his fingers down the side of her face. “You look beautiful.” 

Emotion bubbles up in the back of her throat, but she chokes it down, swallows it and ignores it. “Thank you,” she murmurs. “You look very handsome yourself.” 

And he does, red tie and black suit and white shirt and his eyes are so, so impossibly bright blue. Devi clears her throat, opening the box with his boutonniere and pinning it onto his lapel. Her eyes flicker up, over his face, and she feels her lips curl up into an unbidden smile. “You have stubble on your face,” she murmurs, reaching out and running her thumb along the curve of his cheek. 

“Oh, shit, really?” he murmurs, running his hand over his jaw. “Fuck, sorry. Guess it just slipped my mind to shave.” 

Devi shakes her head. “You look great, and I like it.” 

Ben leans forward, pulling the corsage out of his box, tossing it to the side. “Here,” he says, holding it up. Devi holds her hands out to him, and her heart pounds as his fingertips brush her wrist, gently adjusting it so it lies properly on her arm. When he’s done, his fingers skim up her arm and curl around her elbows, tugging her closer to him. “You look beautiful,” he murmurs, leaning in and pressing his lips to her cheek, gently. 

(he smells like sandalwood, and it takes absolutely everything in her to not melt into his arms, to tilt her head up and brush her mouth against his, because that’s not what friends do, that’s not how this works, and yet, she wants to do it more than anything else in the world) 

She smiles, chest feeling like it is about to explode from the sheer weight of the emotion pressing on her lungs. 

“Thank you, Ben.” 

He steps back, shoving his hands into his pockets, eyes crinkling as he smiles. “You ready to go?” 

“Wait!” Kamala dashes out of the room. “Wait, wait! Pictures!” 

Devi sighs, rolling her eyes. “Pictures.” 

Ben just ducks his head and laughs. “Of course they want pictures of you,” he murmurs, as she tucks her arm into his and they move to her foyer, where Kamala insists the pictures be taken. “You’re stunning.” 

“I mean, I agree,” she quips, trying to deflect from how her heart races in her chest at those words, the soft smile lingering on his lips right now. “I do look pretty awesome. Too bad the pictures will have you in them.” 

“You wound me, David,” he says. “I mean, I clean up pretty well. Some of us know that designer clothing doesn’t come cheap.” 

“Some of us know that we don’t have to drop money on three-piece suits to be respected,” she shoots back. 

Devi smiles through what feels like a million pictures before her family finally lets her go. The early parts of prom are not as nerve-wracking, dinner with Eleanor and Fabiola and their dates—Eve and some guy Eleanor was in the musical with, who’s not a bad guy and just chilling, but then it comes time to dance. 

She’s not too light on her feet, so she stays stubbornly in her seat as the music plays, sipping her punch, when Ben taps her on the arm. “Hey,” she says, glancing over at him. “Oh, no, Ben,” Devi groans, when she sees his hand outstretched, eyes dancing with mirth. 

“Come on, David.” he wheedles. “You’re not gonna dance with your date at prom.” 

She holds up her finger. “We’re here as friends.” 

He rolls his eyes. “Doesn’t mean we can’t dance together. I’m not going to let you sit here on your ass all night, so get up off it and dance with me.” 

“Ben.” He just widens his eyes a bit and looks at her, pleading, and those fucking blue eyes are her Kryptonite, because she can already feel herself caving, giving in. “Fine,” she sighs, putting her hand in his and letting him pull her up, leading her to the dance floor. 

Ben laces their hands together, the other one sweeping around her waist to tug her flush against him, casually, easily, naturally, almost as if this is something they have done a thousand times before.

(they have never done this before, but pressing her body against him in this way, it feels like it is where she has always supposed to be. like everything in her life had brought her here, to this moment, safe in his arms. his hand is warm on the small of her back, pulling her securely into him, and she tightens her other hand on his arm, breathing him in slowly) 

“So,” he says, easy and light, as if her heart is not pounding twenty thousand miles an hour, “having a good time so far?” 

“I’m here with you, so what do you think?” she says, smirking. 

Ben laughs. “I’m glad to see you find me such amazing company.” 

“I tolerate you on occasion, Gross.” 

Ben huffs a laugh, shaking his head and he skims his hand up her spine to press between her shoulder blades, and his hand is so warm she can’t help but melt into his touch. “Well, aren’t I lucky?” 

“You are. I don’t deign just anyone as worthy of my time.” 

“Hmm,” he hums, a smile crossing his lips. “Tell me, what’s so special about me?” 

(everything. everything is special about you, and i don’t want you to let me go right now, please) 

“You possess the very special talent—” 

“Go on,” he interrupts, smirking. 

“—to somehow be a jackass in any given situation,” she finishes. 

“Aww, you really care about me, don’t you?” he smirks, tugging her closer. “Only a true friend would know something like that about me.” 

“Just amazing at everything,” she laughs. “I told you this.” 

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “You are pretty amazing.” 

Devi looks up at him, lets their eyes lock, and she bites the inside of her lip, not caring that she could be getting lipstick on her teeth. His eyes darken as he looks at her, and his fingers flex on her skin, drawing a gasp from her throat. “You mean that?” 

He ducks his head down suddenly, clearing his throat and shifting on his feet, pulling away just the slightest bit from her before looking up at her underneath his lashes. 

In the dim night of the dance floor, his eyes glow, beyond luminous, beyond bright. They are two stars in the sky, and she thinks Ben must have just a little more stardust in his veins than everyone else on the planet to make them glow so bright. 

(it’s a trite, stupid, freshmen comparison, and she kind of hates herself for thinking of it, but she finally understands what juliet said when she was talking about romeo, because right now, she knows that ben is so handsome she wants to scatter him across the night sky, to make everyone fall in love with him) 

“Yeah. I do.” 

Devi doesn’t know how she stops herself from kissing him, when every cell in her body is screaming at her to do so, begging her to do so, to throw herself into his arms and press her mouth against his and never leave his side. 

Prom night is the end, though. It’s almost the end of something—something precious and momentary and fleeting. And they’re almost done with this thing between them, almost done with this arrangement. 

They’re not continuing it on the Princeton campus—and yes, he’d told her he’d committed there on May 1st—no matter how much she might want to. 

(because she needs to be ok with letting him go. with watching him love someone else, and pulling the plug on that sooner rather than later is what is necessary) 

But she stops herself from kissing him, because she gave in to her impulses during sophomore year, when she ran away from him, and kissing him right now, giving in to her impulses again, would be too cruel to him. 

(because maybe, maybe, in the deep recesses of her heart, devi is terrified that ben has not forgiven her for sophomore year, will never forgive her for that, and she doesn’t want to treat his heart as callously as she did back then, because then she might truly lose him. 

(this is her second chance, and she is not throwing it away like she did her first chance) 

and ben remembering malibu means that he has not suppressed it like she thought he did—hoped he did, and thinking of that unearths a whole set of emotions she doesn’t know how to handle, like when she showed up at his house four days after and—) 

“Glad to see you finally admit I’m more amazing than you.” 

Ben just looks at her, and, for a second, she thinks he might kiss her, but then the song changes, from a slow dance into a synth-pop piece, and he pulls away from her, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “I’m going to get us some punch,” he says, and then vanishes into the crowd. 

She is left staring after him, standing on the dance floor alone. 

* * *

She tilts her head, studying them critically, the way one might study gears and cogs in a watch. 

Except gears and cogs follow the principles of mathematics and science, and there is nothing about them that follows the principles of math and science. 

They’re back on the dance floor alone—after spending at least an hour with them on the dance floor, the rest of them had wandered off to get some drinks, except Ben and Devi are still there, still dancing and talking, like no one else exists. 

“They’re idiots, aren’t they?” Eleanor snorts, materializing at her side. 

Fabiola furrows her brow, frowning. “What do you mean by that?” 

She feels two arms wrap around her waist and turns to see Eve, resting her chin on her shoulder. “Hey there.” 

Fabiola smiles at her girlfriend. “Hey.” 

(fabiola doesn’t know if she and eve are lasting and forever, but she loves eve. loves eve for a million reasons, but mostly because loving eve helped her to love herself. when she first admitted to herself she was gay, that she liked girls, there was still a small part of her that hated herself for changing everything, for daring the be different, and eve soothes that) 

“What are you two ladies doing?” 

Eleanor cocks her head performatively. “Looking at Ben and Devi.” 

“Hmm,” Eve says. “Well, that sounds like a fun time.” She presses a kiss to Fabiola’s cheek. “I’m gonna go get my stuff, ok? We can bounce soon.” 

Fabiola nods. “Yeah, ok. Sounds like a plan. Oh, and just a reminder, there’s construction on Olympic so—” 

“I have to take Lucas to get home, I know,” Fab,” Eve says. “You made sure to drop your stuff off in my car, right?” 

Fabiola nods. “Yeah, I did.” 

Eve grins. “Awesome. Can’t wait to see you in those sexy PJs,” she says, giving Fabiola a saucy wink. 

“I don’t have sexy PJs,” Fabiola says, baffled. “Just flannel pants and a comfy t-shirt.” 

Eve rolls her eyes fondly, leaning in and pressing another kiss to Fabiola’s cheek. “A saying, Fab. Anyways, I’ll see you later.” 

Fabiola waves goodbye to her girlfriend, still a bit confused, and turns back to Eleanor, who’s still watching Ben and Devi like a hawk. 

“What’s up with them?” Fabiola asks, sipping her drink.

Eleanor shoots her a look. “You don’t know?” 

Fabiola shrugs. “I don’t understand most straight people. I know there’s like, some weird tension between them. Or something.” 

“Or something?” 

Fabiola smirks at her best friend. “Yeah, see, some of us have  _ lives, _ Eleanor, and don’t spend the majority of our time obsessing over the relationship status of someone else. Honestly, I’m kind of insulted you don’t obsess over Eve and I the same way.” 

Eleanor snorts. “Firstly, I’m glossing over the very blatant insult that contains, and I’m letting you know you and Eve possess brain cells, which is why I don’t need to obsess over you. You’re not two walking human disasters.” 

Fabiola frowns, watching as Devi throws her head back and laughs at something Ben said, which, she would estimate has a 78% chance isn’t funny at all, based on previous experiences. They both have a wacked out sense of humor only the other person gets. She doesn’t get it frankly. It baffles her. 

“Walking human disaster?” 

“Yeah,” Eleanor says. “I mean, it’s so clearly obvious to everyone but them how they feel about each other.” 

She lets her eyes scan them, scan the way they laugh, the easy way they touch each other. “Well, yeah, but what does that have to do with anything?” 

Eleanor chokes on her punch. “What do you mean by that?” 

“I mean, isn’t it simple? She likes him, he likes her, they should date? Who cares what anyone else thinks?” 

Eleanor shakes her head, laughing. “Oh, Fab. Occam’s razor has nothing on you.” 

“I am unsure if that is a compliment.” 

Eleanor wraps a hand around her shoulders and squeezes her, tight. “It absolutely motherfucking is. A huge ass compliment, like, completely and totally.” 

Fabiola squeezes her friend back. “Uh, I think you’re great too, El.” 

“Damn straight I am,” Eleanor snorts. 

(fabiola is the kind of person who will do anything to protect her friends, but more than that, she will do anything to protect her friends’ hearts. both eleanor and devi do not know this, but they have soft hearts, kind, compassionate, giving hearts. they are hard ones to get into, but they are easy ones to hurt once given the chance. and fabiola knows it is impossible to protect her friends from everything, but she’s going to try. try to take care of their hearts while they take care of hers) 

“I’m just a little worried about Devi,” Eleanor murmurs. “She could get really hurt.” 

Fabiola stiffens instantly, narrowing her eyes at Ben. “What do you mean by that? Is he gonna do something?” 

“Down, girl,” Eleanor chides playfully, placing her hand on Fabiola’s arm. Fabiola scowls at her friend, shoving her hands in the pockets of her suit. “It’s not Ben who’s going to do something—at least, not in the way you think. I’m just worried she’s getting too deep into a situation that she doesn’t know how to get herself out of.” 

“What?” Fabiola says, but before Eleanor can elaborate, Devi appears in front of them, Ben at her side. 

“Hey there,” Eleanor says, smirking. “I’m glad we’ve had a good time at prom so far.” 

Devi grins. “Those dance moves you pulled, Eleanor? Amazing.” 

Eleanor rolls her eyes. “You wish you had moves like that.” 

Fabiola laughs. “So, are you guys going to Lauren Green’s afterparty? I know this one is,” she says, tilting her head towards Eleanor. 

Ben and Devi exchange a look, doing that—weird mind-reading thing they always do. Sometimes, Fabiola’s a little jealous of them, because not even she and Eve can seem to know what the other is thinking so effortlessly, despite being dating for almost three whole years, but then she remembers Ben and Devi have a history way beyond most people she knows.

“Eh?” Ben says. Devi smiles. He frowns. She raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, we’re gonna go,” he says, turning back to them. “Although not for long.” Devi nods at that. 

Fabiola furrows her brows. “Hey, are you gonna crash at Eleanor’s tonight? I’ll be spending the night with Eve.” 

“Nah,” Eleanor says, smirking, before Devi can even say anything. “These two have plans.” 

“Plans?” Fabiola says, tilting her head. “What plans?” 

“Studying.” 

“Eleanor!” Devi hisses. 

“What?” Fabiola is  _ so _ confused right now. God, straight people were too confusing for her. People just need to learn how to  _ communicate. _ “Studying what? School’s over.” 

“Oh, you didn’t know?” Eleanor smirks. “That’s where they’ve been going all the time all year. They’ve been taking a class.” 

If looks could kill, the glare Devi’s giving Eleanor would have her best friend six feet under in a nanosecond. 

Fabiola presses, determined to make sure Devi’s not ending up somewhere  _ too _ dumb tonight, like, falling off the roof of a house, or something. “Studying what?” 

Eleanor looks her in the eye and says, “oh, a human anatomy class.” 

Ben flushes bright red, and Fabiola wrinkles her nose. “Since when were you interested in that, Ben?” 

“Uh,” he says, voice strangled. “I’m—I’m not.” 

“Just a very specific kind,” Eleanor remarks. 

“That’s it,” Devi declares. “I’m leaving, and Eleanor, you better hope I don’t see you at Lauren’s, cause I’m going to murder you.” 

Fabiola watches as Devi grips Ben’s wrist and drags him across the dance floor, and then turns back to Eleanor, raising an eyebrow. “Ok, spill,” she says, crossing her arms. “What was that?” 

Eleanor just wags her eyebrows, eyes dancing with mirth. “Think about it, Fab.” 

Fabiola wants to, she does, but she’s about 86% sure someone spiked the punch, and frankly, she can spot Eve out of the corner of her eye, waving at her, and she’d rather be making out with her girlfriend in her bed than standing here, pondering the dumpster fire that is her best friend’s love life. 

“Tell me another day,” Fabiola says, waving her hand. “I’m gonna go make out with Eve.” 

Eleanor sighs dramatically. “Fine,” she says, pushing Fabiola away. “Go sleep with your girlfriend. Get laid, please. Lord knows I won’t.” 

“Tyler not up for it?” 

“Just friends, remember?” Eleanor remarks, slightly dry and bitter, and Fabiola’s a little worried. 

“Hey, Eleanor, you know you can always come with me, right? I’m sure Eve wouldn’t mind.” 

Eleanor’s shaking her head before Fabiola even finishes her sentence, and then her friend is stepping closer, giving her a tight hug before shoving her away. “Go have fun,” Eleanor says. “I’ll be ok. The drama kids all idolize me anyways.” 

Fabiola squeezes her friend’s hand one more time. 

(tonight she has tried to remember everything in great detail, to map it out in her brain like she does instructions for gears brosnan, to keep things logical and methodical and simple, to remember them. but there is emotion tied into every single one of her memories; the color of eve’s suit and the way devi’s smile shines in the light, the sound of eleanor’s laugh and ben’s hatred of pop music. she tries to remember these moments, because they fade faster than flowers crushed by spring snow) 

“I love you, El.” 

“I love you too, Fab.” Eleanor smiles, blows her a kiss. “I’ll send everyone all the photos we took tonight.” 

“That’s like, three hundred billion.” 

“No other way to do prom.” Eleanor laughs, stepping back on her heels, not wobbling for even a second. “Now, you go. Spend prom night with your girlfriend.” 

Fabiola nods, and raises her hand one last time to wave goodbye, before Eve appears at her side. 

“Ready?” 

Fabiola looks over at her, at this girl she loves so much, loves with every beat of her heart. “Yeah,” she says, smiling. “I’m ready.” 

* * *

“Are you ok?” 

Devi glances over at him, and he’s gnawing on his lip, staring at her. “What?” she says, wrinkling her nose. 

“Are—are you ok? You’re not too cold or anything, right?” 

She steps around his car. They’ve arrived at the party, and she can already hear it, people spilling in the large house a few blocks down. But the night is warm, not too humid, and she’s feeling ok. “No, Ben. I’m fine.” 

His gaze drags over her, slightly dark, and her pulse quickens in her chest, hammering away at her ribcage hard, hunger pooling in the pit of her stomach. Ben steps forward, running his tongue over his lips, and her entire body feels like a taut string, ready to snap at any moment. Goosebumps erupt over her arms, and he cocks his head. “You have goosebumps,” he murmurs, eyes flicking up to meet hers. 

She swallows roughly. “I’m—fine,” she chokes out. 

He nods, hands in his pockets, and she wants to step closer to him and have him kiss her until her lipstick smudges off, until her mouth is swollen and branded from his kisses, his alone. “I think we should get going, right?” 

Ben bites the inside of his cheek and nods. “Yeah. Let’s go.” 

Devi can’t resist the gasp that slips past her lips—more of a whimper, really—when he places his hand on the small of her back, palm pressing flat against her bare skin, and in heels they’re exactly the same height, so when his eyes lock with hers it feels a thousand times more visceral. 

“Come on, Devi,” he murmurs. 

She tears her eyes away from his—so fucking  _ blue, _ like they can see right into the very depths of her soul, cutting away her defenses, slicing through to her heart—and nods, taking a deep, shuddering breath in the hopes it might cool her blood, which is pumping though her veins excessively hot. 

(they are at a party, and, well, they do have a track record) 

Devi walks through the open door and cringes at the loudness of the room, and she steps back to avoid a half-drunk teenager stumbling through the hallway, right into Ben, who pulls her flush against him, arm banding around her waist as she wobbles on her heels. “Prince Charming for you yet again, aren’t I?” he rasps, breath hot on the shell of her ear. 

She trembles—whether because of the heels or him, she doesn’t know—and shoves herself away, refusing to look at him. “Prince Charming cleared five feet,” she snaps, before walking further into the house. 

Ben trails after her, she can tell because of the sandalwood clinging to him, even stronger, if that’s possible, musky and spicy and all too intoxicating. 

(he knows he’s tempting her beyond comprehension, leaving her wobbling on shaking legs, on high heels, and all she wants to do is to collapse into him and let him touch her, let him do whatever he wants) 

Devi clears her throat, trying not to jump when she feels his fingers skim the plane of her shoulder blade as he steps around her, looking down at the drinks. “What do you want?” 

“What—what I want?” she repeats, a bit faintly. 

“To drink. What do you want to drink?” he asks. 

He unbuttons his jacket, pulls at the tie around his throat to loosen it. “How drunk do you want to get tonight?” he smirks. 

Devi blinks at him, tilting her head and feeling the hair sweep across her shoulders. Strangely, the thing is, she doesn’t want to get very drunk. She wants to remember this. Remember him. 

“I’ll um—I’ll take a beer,” she says, struggling to tear his eyes from his throat. 

He raises his eyebrow in disbelief. “Not tequila?” 

“No. I don’t want to get too drunk.” 

Ben hums, popping open a beer can and pouring half of it into a cup for her. “Ok, then.” 

He pulls his jacket off, rolling up his shirt sleeves, and she sips on her drink and surreptitiously—or not—watches as the skin over his knuckles shifts as he rolls them up, revealing the exposed plane of his forearm, the veins, a paler blue than his eyes, but no less tempting. She forces herself to take another sip of her drink, blocking his arms from view, because if she starts thinking about how badly she wants to lean down and press her lips to the inside of his wrist, to feel his pulse flutter against her lips, and the warmth of his blood pumping against her mouth—then she will never stop.

Because if she lets herself think, right now, of his hands pressing into her skin and the way she knows the muscles in his arm would shift if he lifted her up, then she will break. 

Devi runs a finger around the rim of her cup and stares at him, impossibly casual, tie askew at his throat. “Do—do you want something to drink?” 

“I have to drive, remember?” he says, smiling wryly. 

She nods. “Right. You don’t—want any water or anything?” 

He raises an eyebrow playfully. “Do you see any water here, David?” He gestures to the table. “I think they got rid of all the water so everyone would get drunk sooner.” 

Devi steps closer to him, smirking, feeling a bolt of heat zip down her spine when his gaze drops to her mouth. “You’re just saying that because you’re a lightweight.” 

He snorts. “Which one of us tried to talk to a coyote in sophomore year?” 

“That was a momentary lapse in judgement.” 

“Face it, David,” he smirks, crossing his arms, and the fucker is  _ definitely _ doing it so her eyes will be drawn to them now, the veins and muscles even more prominent. “You have a lot of those.” 

“No, I don’t.” 

Ben’s mouth curls up into a smug smile. “You said that the first time we slept together. Have you been having a continuing momentary lapse in judgement for the past year?” His fingers flex on his arms, and she resists the urge to toss her drink in his face, the goddamn asshole. 

Devi grips her cup tighter. “You could call it that, sure.” 

“Just that tempted by me, are you?” 

(she is, but letting  _ him _ know? yeah, right)

“You’re the one tempted by me, Gross.” 

Instead of smirking, like she expected him to, Ben pushes himself off of the fridge and steps closer to her, reaching up to cup her jaw. She’s sure he can feel the rapid fire thrum of her pulse against the base of his thumb, and her head spins, and it’s definitely not from the alcohol. He presses his thumb against her bottom lip, eyes dropping when her mouth parts in shock. 

“I’d argue with you, but you look too pretty for me to even try,” he whispers. 

Devi feels like she’s going to melt right into the floor. “Oh,” she gasps. 

Ben swallows, and she traces the hollow of his throat with her eyes, wanting to press her lips there so badly she leans forward for a moment before she pulls back, horrified she lost control so easily. 

She needs to get away from him, right now. 

“I’m gonna—go talk to Lauren,” she says, jabbing her thumb towards the living room. “I just saw her.” 

She flees—there’s no other way to describe it, really—the scene, stumbling into the next room and collapsing against the wall, closing her eyes and trying to get her breathing under control. 

Fuck, this was supposed to get  _ easier. _ How can she still want him this much even when she knows things will end soon? How can she feel this way when she still knows how this is going to end?

Devi collects herself and walks into the living room, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. She chats with a few people, distracts herself, trying not to give in to temptation, and she relaxes a bit, the tension easing out of her shoulders, as the music grows louder. 

Devi giggles as she watches some of the truly horrendous dance moves drunken teenagers can get up to, and she snorts when one of the football players bumps into someone else, sending him sprawling onto the floor. 

“Hot, right?” 

Devi startles and slips on her heels, and Ben catches her, pulling her flush against him, and she clutches her drink, crushing the cup between their bodies. “Whoa, you ok?” 

“Ye—yeah,” she stammers. “Sorry, you just surprised me.” 

Ben laughs, shaking his head. “Jumpy thing, you are.” She swallows, resisting the urge to tuck her nose into his neck, and she notices he’s still not wearing his blazer, the skin of his forearm pressed against her bare skin, and she flushes with heat. 

Devi shifts slightly, pulling the crushed cup out from between them, setting it on a table, and she pulls herself out of his grasp, turning back to the dancing mass. “To answer your question, Gross, yes, very hot.” 

Ben laughs, low and husky in her ear. “Glad to see we agree on something.” 

Devi turns to look at him, and they’re way too close for just friends, her nose almost brushing his. He’s looking at her, pupils blown wide, and she trembles when she feels his fingers brush up her spine. “What?” she whispers. 

“You really don’t know, do you?” 

“Know what?” 

“What you look like in that dress? What you do to me?” 

She closes her eyes, so she doesn’t have to look him in the eyes, because she thinks she might die if she does. “Tell me.” 

“You want me to tell you here? In front of everyone? Not very friendly of me, David.” 

Devi opens her eyes, biting her lip. “Don’t be friendly.” 

The corners of his mouth turn upward, a loose, easy smirk that sends her pulse racing, heat permeating throughout her body. He reaches, presses his hand against the small of her back, the warmth flooding into her skin, and she gasps. “Not friendly, huh?” he murmurs. “I think I can swing that.” 

“Stop deflecting,” she grits out. “Tell me.” 

He nudges her nose with his cheek, and she breathes out, lets herself melt into his touch. “Beautiful,” he rasps. “You look beautiful in that dress. And your lipstick. You knew what you were doing when you wore that, didn’t you?” 

“I wasn’t trying to do anything,” she protests. 

“I don’t believe you.” 

Just then, all of the lights go out, and there are screams before they hear a voice bellowing, “The generator blew. We’re gonna try and get it back.” 

Phone flashlights appear instantly, but it’s still a bit dark, and she and Ben are tucked into the corner, away from prying eyes, so hardly any light falls on them. He takes advantage of this, stepping even closer to her, hand curling around her abdomen possessively. “Ben,” she hisses. 

“You asked for this,” he whispers back, and then she feels his lips press to the underside of her jaw, and she sighs, tilting her head to the side. “Fuck, Devi,” he breathes. “All I could think about was kissing you until your lipstick came off.” 

“What—what else?” She tightens her fingers on his forearms, eyes fluttering shut. 

“You make me want to lose control.” Ben nips at her neck. “Do you want me to lose control?” 

She nods, blindly. “Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good.” 

“Track record to keep up, right? We are at a party.” Ben’s other hand sweeps up the length of her arm and back down, igniting a fire inside of her and quenching it all the same. She feels his lips press against her shoulder, shockingly sweet, even while he’s unnervingly cocky, and her heart flips at the gesture. 

“Ben,” she sighs. 

“You wore red, and you know what that does to me, don’t you?” He skims his fingers up the length of her spine, light and forceful all at the same time. “Makes me want to drag you into a dark room.” 

“And do what?” 

“Whatever you wanted, of course.” 

“Fuck,” she swears, and spins around so she’s facing him. “Do it.” 

She can barely see him in the darkness of the room, just the shadows that play over his face from the faint phone flashlights far away, and the white light against the dark room sharpens his features into something dangerous, almost elven. His eyes suck the little light that the room has, and they glimmer with something slightly unrestrained. “Are you sure?” 

The lights flicker back on then, and several beer bottles crash, but Devi can’t tear her eyes from his face, fixed on him. “I wouldn’t have told you if I wasn’t.” 

Ben clenches his jaw. “Fuck, ok.” 

He wraps his hand around her wrist, and pulls her away, pulls her down the hall, past drunken teenagers making out and some noises behind closets and bathrooms she  _ really _ doesn’t want to explore. 

(it is prom night, and the only person she can even think about being around is him) 

He shoves the door open to a bedroom, somehow finding it blissfully empty, and tugs her in behind him. 

Deja vu flashes in her mind as she stumbles in, but then his hands are wrapping around her hips, fingers digging into her back, and she loses the ability to think as soon as his mouth latches onto her neck. 

“Oh my god, Ben,” she sighs, running her hands through his hair. 

“I told you,” he says, biting at her neck. “Driving me crazy all night in this dress. You look really hot.” 

“Thought I was beautiful,” she chokes out, fingers digging into his hips when he sucks at the underside of her jaw. 

“You can be both,” he smirks, kissing the hollow of her throat. 

Ben trails his lips down her chest, and she groans, tipping her head back against the door. “You—you haven’t kissed me yet,” she chokes out. “Ben, come on.” 

“I think it’ll be obvious if we leave here and you don’t have any of your lipstick on.” He presses a kiss to the very bottom of her neckline, just underneath her breasts, and she digs her hands into his hair. “You don’t want to set any alarm bells off, do you?” 

“What I want,” she breathes, “is for you to make good on all of your perverted thoughts. Gotta be good for something, right?” 

“That’s true.” 

And then, Ben presses a kiss to her stomach before dropping to his knees in front of her, and his hands are pushing up her dress, head ducking down to press a kiss to the front of her thigh and—

“Ben,” she gasps, eyes fluttering shut when he nips at her hip. “He—here?” 

“I have been wanting to see you like this all night long,” he rumbles, so quiet she has to strain to hear him. “Pressed up against a door, your hands in my hair. Come on, Devi. You told me you wanted me to make good on my thoughts.”

“Fuck,” she swears, her dress feeling impossibly tight on her body. “Ben, I’m still fucking  _ dressed.” _

“Yeah.” His smirk is pressed to the inside of her thigh and she contemplates jerking on his hair until he finds a better place for it, or strangling him with her bare hands. “That makes it hotter.” 

Her eyes fly open at that, a gasp ripping from her lungs as his fingers dig into her hips. “Me still—wearing my dress?” 

Ben drags his teeth over the curve of her thigh, fingers pulling her underwear down her legs gently, jarringly soft. “Yeah. You still wearing your dress. Screaming my name.” 

He kisses her stomach, sucking a mark right below her navel, and her legs shake, dangerously. “Relax, Devi,” he whispers. “You gotta relax, ok?” 

“I—I don’t know how,” she cries. 

“Ok, ok, you got this,” he whispers, kissing her hip. “Just trust me, ok? Take a deep breath.” 

She does, takes a deep, shuddering breath, and yet, her heart still pounds in her chest, and she still feels like she’s going to pass out. “Ben, I—” 

He cuts her off by shifting his mouth, curling a warm hand around her thigh to toss it over his shoulder and dragging his tongue over her, impossibly steady and sure. 

“Oh, fuck,” she cries, soft, almost silent. “Ben.” 

His fingers dig into her skin tighter, and she digs her hands into his hair tighter, trying to keep her balance. The straps of her dress cut into her shoulders, almost painfully tight, and it would hurt but instead it’s grounding, helpful for when she feels like her entire body is about to melt into the floor. 

He flattens his tongue against her and swipes up, setting her nerve endings alight, and every single atom in her body feels like it’s going to combust, going to explode and go nuclear. 

Almost nine whole months, the whole school year with him, and so he knows exactly what to do, exactly how to drag her pleasure out just long enough so that every inch of her body is trapped in sweet torture. 

Ben shifts his mouth and presses his tongue against her harder, and Devi barely clamps down the cry that threatens to escape her lungs. “Shit,” she hisses, tugging on his hair. 

“Well,” he murmurs, pulling away, and she whimpers in protest. “That won’t do.” 

“The hell?” she groans. “What do you want  _ now?” _

“Thought that was obvious, Devi,” he growls, sinking his teeth into the curve of her thigh, and she knows she’ll have dozens of marks littering her legs the next day. “I don’t want you to be quiet. To hold anything back. You wouldn’t disappoint me, would you?” 

Devi’s eyes flutter open, her mind foggy, and she tries to focus on the feeling of his hair against her hands. “Huh?” 

“Disappoint me, Devi,” he rumbles, sucking another mark,  _ hard, _ into her thigh. “I’ll be disappointed if you’re quiet. Would you let me down like that?” 

“No,” she sobs, desperate to get his mouth back on her. “No, I’m sorry.” 

“That’s ok,” he whispers. “Just don’t be quiet. I want to hear you.” 

“What about—about everyone else?” she chokes out, scrabbling at his hair as he drags his teeth over her, gently, firmly. It feels like, like a chemical reaction, a slow one, is taking place in her body. Almost like a titration, a slow build up, and then one moment pushes the reaction over the edge, exploding into beautiful color. 

She wants Ben to make her explode, to pull a vivid reaction out of her. 

“I don’t care about everyone else,” he whispers, and she bites down on her tongue at the feeling of his mouth ghosting against her as he speaks. “I don’t care about anyone else. Just you.” 

Ben’s hands curl tighter around her hips, tight enough to leave bruises, and the tension in her stomach coils tighter, getting impossible close. “Fuck, fuck,” she cries, squeezing her eyes shut. 

Her legs shake, and she knows she would have collapsed to the floor if it weren’t for his hands holding her up, pinning her to the door. “Ben,” she cries, when he licks into her, firm and sure, better at reading her body than anyone else. 

(there is a countdown clock on these moments, but thinking about that makes her heart hurt in her chest, so she doesn’t let herself think about this, focuses on his hot, hot hands against her hips, his mouth even hotter against her, thumbs pressing into her stomach)

“I’m—close,” she whimpers. “Please, Ben, give—give it to me.” 

“Whatever you want, Devi. I’ll give it to you,” he whispers. He flicks his tongue over her clit, almost brutally, and she lets out a broken sob, trying not to buck her hips off the door. “Anything at all.” 

(what about your heart?) 

“I—I need—” 

Ben increases the pressure of his mouth against hers, swirls his tongue against her perfectly, and she breaks, tugging at his hair painfully tight. 

Colors explode behind her eyes, a whimper bursting from her mouth, and it’s visceral, almost violent, all of her nerve endings sensitive, systems crashing. Her legs shake, and she slumps, the only thing holding her up Ben’s hands, which have a vice-like grip on her hips. “Holy shit.” Her eyes flutter open, slowly, and she pants, trying to suck air into her lungs, which are burning. “Oh, Ben.” 

He scatters kisses across her thighs, biting her skin ever so often, gently. She still feels like she’s going to melt, but she curls her hands around Ben’s ears and tugs, causing him to tilt his head up. “Please,” she says, looking down her body into his eyes. “Please kiss me.” 

He skims his hands up her side as he stands up, letting her dress fall back down to her feet, and his eyes are dark and bright and a thousand other things all at the same time. One of his hands skims up her neck, dragging along the necklace for a moment, before pressing the pads of his fingers against her mouth. “Are you sure?” he whispers. 

Devi swallows roughly. “Ben.”

It’s all the confirmation he needs, and then he’s leaning forward, pressing his lips to hers, and she sighs, curling her hands into his shirt collar, pulling him closer. 

It’s a slow burn, turning on a gas flame and letting it simmer, letting it heat up until it becomes unbearable, and Ben’s hands on her are all the fuel she needs. He is not gasoline or oil or anything destructive, he is kindling and logs and flint, something that helps her stay aflame without turning into something catastrophic. 

Devi sighs against his mouth in bliss when his hand slides up into her hair, cradling her head gently. It hurts her heart whenever he kisses her like this, because it reminds her of Malibu, but whenever he kisses her like this it makes her heart soar and shatter all at the same time. 

Ben pulls away from her, and lets his eyes drag over her face. His mouth is stained red, and she reaches up, wiping the lipstick off of his face. “Let me take you home,” he murmurs. 

Her heart leaps out of her chest. “What?” 

He reaches up, drags his own thumb underneath her bottom lip, coming off red. “Can I take you home?” 

She blinks at him. “To—” 

“My house.” Ben’s hand swipes under her mouth again, more of a caress than anything. “Can I take you home?” 

(in her heart devi knows this will not be like the other times that he has asked to take her home. this will not be like before and there is something—something different about this time that she cannot exactly point out, that she cannot exactly put her finger on, and she knows that something will be different about this time in a way that is dangerous, but she cannot resist him. she has never been able to)

Devi looks him in the eyes, her hand still cupping his jaw, hair mussed from her running her hands through it, mouth stained red from her lipstick. “Yes.” 

* * *

Ben pulls the door shut behind them, and even that click is impossibly loud in the stillness. Devi closes her eyes, holds her breath. He tosses his suit jacket in the corner of the room, and the floor creaks as he steps forward. 

Devi turns her head, but she still can’t see him. “Hi,” she murmurs. 

Ben’s breath ghosts over the nape of her neck as he sweeps her hair to the side, letting it tumble over one shoulder, and he presses his lips to the curve between her shoulder and her neck as he slides his hands around her hips, pressing against her stomach to tug him back against her. 

“Hey.” He nudges her neck with his nose, gently scattering kisses up and down the length of her throat. “Did you have a good time tonight?” 

She tilts her head and closes her eyes—the room already blissfully dark—as he sucks at her jawline, limbs suddenly heavy, body leaning against his. “I did. Thank you.” 

“No need to thank me,” he whispers, fingers flexing against her stomach. “Fabiola’s flawless impression of  _ The Robot _ stole the show, I know that.” 

She laughs, tipping her head back and resting it against his shoulder as his lips ghost over the curve of her cheek. “You’re not wrong. But—thank you. You were part of it too.” 

Devi turns around in his arms and smoothes her hands up his chest, fingers working at his tie. She pulls it off, red, and tosses it in the corner, undoing the buttons on his shirt. “This wasn’t a rental, was it?” she murmurs, just before she leans in and presses her lips to the hollow of his throat. 

Ben chokes out a laugh, digging his hands into her hips a bit tighter. “You think I’d get a rental?” 

“Of course not, you rich jackass,” she murmurs, wiping away the lipstick stain she leaves on his throat with her thumb. “Just wanted to double check.” 

She unbuttons his vest easily, slipping it off his shirt, but before she can work at the buttons of his shirt, Ben catches her wrist in his hand, thumb scoring over her pulse point. “Soft,” he murmurs. 

She swallows. “Yeah, I know.” 

Ben turns his head and presses a kiss to the inside of her wrist, and she knows he can feel how her pulse accelerates at his touch. 

(hummingbirds have one of the fastest heart beats in the world, at over one thousand beats per minute, but right now, devi thinks she could give the hummingbird a run for its money, with how fast it feels like her heart is pounding) 

“Still the same,” he murmurs, lips quirking up in a smile. He tugs her closer by her wrists, hands skimming up her back to slip her straps off her shoulders. 

It’s the only thing the dress needs, and then it falls to the floor silently, expensive satin crumpling on the carpet. 

Ben’s eyes never leave her face. 

Devi blinks. “What do you mean, still the same?” she asks. 

“You always smell the same.” He is as unmoving as a statue as she undoes the first button on his shirt, and then the second. Her hands are shaking more than when they did the first time they slept together, and she is nervous, impossibly, insanely, stupidly nervous right now. Why is she nervous? She and Ben have done this before, like, a lot. Their whole arrangement is built around this, sex. They’re good at it, really good at it. There is no logical reason for her to be nervous right now. 

(there is nothing logical about her and ben, so in an odd way, this fits) 

“Like jasmine.” 

Devi’s hands freeze on the third button of his shirt, just his sternum visible in the gap left by his undone buttons. “Oh,” she gasps, a little stunned he noticed. 

Ben tilts his head to the side. “What?”

“Nothing,” she murmurs. She refocuses back on unbuttoning his shirt, slipping the shirt off of his shoulders once all the buttons are done. She runs her hands down his chest, hooking her fingers into his pants and tugging him closer, leaning down to press a kiss to his shoulder. 

“You know you’re going to leave lipstick all over me, right?” he murmurs, as she undoes the zipper of his dress pants and shoves them down his hips. 

“You complaining, Gross?” 

He shakes his head. “No.” Ben skims his fingers down her spine, pulling a gasp from her lungs, and she kisses his neck as her legs shake. “Come here,” he murmurs. 

Confused, she pulls back, and Ben reaches out, cupping her jaw and pulling her closer to him. Her gasp is muffled when he presses his lips against hers, and he kisses her like her lips are a flower petal, like he’s afraid to press against them too hard, or they’ll bruise. Like he’s afraid of hurting her. 

It’s such an antithesis to the Ben who left marks trailing up her thighs an hour ago it makes her head spin, her heart pound.

(there is a ben who makes her blood boil and bubble, who makes her entire body light on fire and who makes her claw marks into his back, who touches her with a rough edge to it, and then there is a ben who makes her blood simmer and flood with heat, who drops kisses like starfall all over her, who touches her like she’s made of porcelain and glass, delicate and light, and when they bleed together, she doesn’t know how to handle that) 

Ben sweeps his tongue across her mouth and she parts her lips under his, and he tugs gently on her jaw as he stumbles back, pulling her back towards the bed. 

Devi moans when he slides his hand into her hair, and tugs her down on the bed. She sits down, focused on kissing him, only on kissing him, not letting him pull away even as he pushes her down on the bed. 

Finally, though, she needs to breathe as well, and so she breaks away, trying to catch her breath. She gasps when Ben’s tongue laves down her neck, arching her back up and seeking his mouth.

“Nope,” he murmurs, soft and low and quiet. “Not tonight.”

“What?” she says, grappling for him, to hold on to him.

“Tonight, I’m taking my time,” he murmurs. His hands skim up her legs. “If you’ll let me?” She looks down her body, eyes locking with his, and they are bright, so impossibly, beautifully bright, that she thinks she might die from the sheer weight of his gaze on her. 

“Devi? Will you let me?” 

She sucks in a breath, and nods. “Yes,” she murmurs, and Ben’s hand skims down her arm and laces her fingers with his, and it makes something take a hold of her throat, of her lungs, like her chest cavity has been overtaken by vines, an invasive species brutally destroying everything else. 

(ben is an invasive species, overtaking her body and outcompeting all of her other emotions) 

Ben scatters kisses across her stomach, gentle and reverent and oh-so breathless. She thinks she might melt into the bed, right here, right now, and she sighs when he dips his tongue into her navel for a split second before kissing it. Her fingers curl into the bedsheets, but not tight, just firm, looking for something to ground herself to.

“Hey,” he whispers, scoring his eyes up her body. “What do you want?” 

She melts into the bed, eyes fluttering as he drags his lips over her thigh, too light to be called a kiss. “I—I want you,” she breathes. 

Ben pauses, thumbs skimming the dip between her thigh and torso. “You don’t want—” 

Devi shakes her head. “No,” she insists. “Come up here, please.” 

He moves up her body, brushing back a strand of hair and kissing her. “I wanted to take my time,” he murmurs. 

“You can still do that. Just after right now. Please?” 

His eyes are brighter than the stars when he pulls back, thumb stroking under her jaw. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, whatever you want.” 

It’s almost in slow motion, what happens next: she shoves his boxers down, he reaches over, tears open a condom slowly, as if even the sound of the foil packet can break this, and then slides into her slow, gentle, careful. 

Devi buries her face in his neck, running her nails across his back. “Oh,” she breathes, her eyes fluttering. 

It’s perfect. 

The weight of him presses her into his bed, and it’s so good, so good it makes her want to cry. Devi moans quietly as he drags his hands all over her body: curving around her thighs, skimming up her side, brushing over the plane of her stomach. He traces her whole body, as if he wants to sear her into his mind, and what she loves most about intimacy with Ben is how much he touches her, like he can’t bear to stop. 

His fingers curl around her thigh and hitch her leg over his side, her calf brushing his back. “Slow, ok?” he murmurs. “That’s how we’re going to do this.” 

Devi whimpers in agreement, head falling back against the bed as his hands dig into her hip slightly harder. “Ok,” she agrees. 

Ben kisses her neck, sucking on it gently, as he rolls his hips into hers. “How do you feel?”

“Good,” she gasps. “Really good.” 

(the slow, forever burn of magma permeates her lungs, over the unpredictability of a forest fire. ben has always given her heat, and it just depends what kind: fire, sunlight, lava) 

His other hand skims down her hip and his eyes lock with hers, the cool blue of his eyes tuning her insides to steam. Ben kisses her jawline, thrusting into her again. “Good, Devi. Good.” 

Devi flicks her tongue out, the slightest bit of sweat on his skin as he drives into her, slow and gentle and it’s too much and not enough at the same time, her body reaching the breaking point just a bit too slow. 

“Ben,” she cries. “A little faster, come on.” 

“Ok.” His breath puffs into her skin and she’s so close, and she wants to shatter with him, wants him to catch her as she falls. 

Devi closes her eyes tight, choking back a moan when his other hand ghosts over her hip before curving around her thigh, hooking it around his hip, her ankles crossing at the small of his back, and it’s impossibly similar yet so different from the first ever time they slept together, in a random bedroom while a party raged on. 

Right now it is just the two of them, and when he shifts, changing the angle slightly, hand sliding down her body to rub at her core, she gasps, hips bucking into his, and the string draws just a little tighter. 

“Ben,” she sobs, quietly, scrabbling at his shoulders, searching for purchase. “Ben, oh my god, I’m close.” 

She needs him, more than she’s ever needed anyone. 

Devi buries her face in his neck, unable to shake the feeling that she’s still looking for him, that she’s still searching for him, that he’s not here with her. She clutches him, painfully tight, resisting the urge to sink her teeth into his shoulder. He picks up the pace, and the string pulls just a little tighter. 

Suddenly, she needs to see him, more than anything, more than she needs to breathe, she needs to see his face, needs to look at him. Devi pulls her face from his neck, blinking hazily. “Ben,” she gasps. “Ben.” 

“Hey, hey,” he soothes. “I’m here, Devi.” He nudges her nose with his cheek, and she blinks, looking him in the eyes. “Hey, I’m here.” 

She chokes back the emotion bubbling in her throat, and focuses on his eyes. “Please, Ben.” 

Ben leans down and kisses her, and when he pulls back and opens his eyes, they are darker than she’s ever seen them, drinking her in. “Come on, Devi.” 

He pulls her closer to him, running his hand up on her arm and pulling it away from his back, lacing his hand through hers. “You got this.” 

“I—Ben, I—” she chokes out. 

(i want you and need you and you make me feel something i’ve never felt before, with anyone else, so please, please—) 

He squeezes her hand tighter, the other one digging into her hip. “Let go,” he whispers. “Let go for me, Devi. I know you can do it. Let go for me.” 

Devi opens her eyes, looks right into his. Her nails dig into his hand and his back, and then the hand on her hip sweeps between their bodies, presses against her core, and the string snaps. 

_ “Ben,” _ she sobs, coming hard, looking right into his eyes. She falls and falls and every cell in her body is hot, oversensitized, and it floods her systems right now, how she feels about him, the overwhelming need to hold him close and never ever let him go. She arches her back, hand squeezing him impossibly tight ,and Ben buries his face in his neck, following her.

“Devi,” he murmurs. And then he is kissing the line of her neck and she squeezes her eyes tight to stop the tears from leaking out her eyes. Her hand shakes in his grasp, but when Ben makes to move, she stops him, clutching at him a bit tighter. 

“Devi?” Ben asks. 

“Not yet,” she whispers. “Please. Not yet.” 

“Ok,” he whispers. “I’ll stay.” 

“Just for a little while. Then you can do what you want,” she murmurs. 

“Good. Because I want to kiss every inch of you.” Ben’s hand drags down the side of her face gently, and he presses his lips to hers for a second before backing away. “You said I could take my time.” 

Devi squeezes his hand. “I want you to. Just live me a moment.” He nods, still looking into her eyes. 

So blue they steal the air right out of her lungs. She will never find anything as beautiful ever again. 

(terminal velocity reached) 

* * *

Ben pulls up to Devi’s house at exactly eight seventeen am on Monday, thirteen minutes before their agreed upon time. He can’t help it if he’s a little excited. 

It’s senior skip day, and he’s spending it with Devi and her friends. 

According to Devi, she and Eleanor have a plan on what they’re going to do today, and they need someone to drive them. 

He sighs, pulling his phone out and texting her that he’s here. 

It’s weird, he thinks, because he had just seen her yesterday, when he dropped her off at her house after prom night, and already he needs to see her again, already he cannot wait to see her again. 

Devi hops into the passenger seat thirty seconds after he hits send on the text, grinning at him. “Hey, Gross,” she says, smirking. 

Ben smiles back. “So.” He holds out his hand, palm up.

Devi looks at it like he’s radioactive, a sneer curling over her lips. “Uh, what’s that?” 

“My fee.” 

She arches an eyebrow, dangerously. “Your fee.” 

“Yes, my fee,” he snorts. “You said you needed someone to drive you around. That means that I’m your chauffeur and I expect to be paid for you enlisting my services.” 

Devi scowls at him, batting his hand away. “I’m not paying you, dumbass.” 

“Then what’s the incentive for me to come?” 

“You get to spend time with me and my fantastic friends. What, that’s not enough incentive for you?” 

Ben rolls his eyes. “I do that and  _ not _ drive you guys around with gas from my own tank all the time. Please tell me why I should have to pay for my own gas?” 

Devi groans, smacking him with her purse. “Come  _ on, _ Ben. Don’t you wanna have a lot of fun?” 

He snorts, turning his car on and pulling away from the curb of her house. “Fun with you normally means getting myself into dangerous situations.” 

“Ugh, Ben, when are you going to realize that taking a bit of risk means having fun and—” 

“I mean I don’t really think that danger is equal to fun—” 

“Adrenaline is really interesting to experience—” 

“You’re just a junkie for it—” 

“Just put on the Ariana Grande song that I like—” 

“I am  _ not _ playing her today—” 

“Oh come on—” 

“Nope,” he says firmly, shaking his head. “I’m the driver, I have control of the music.” 

Devi grumbles, crossing her arms. “I refuse to let my friends be subjected to your horrible taste in music, asshole.” 

“I just need to head to Fabiola’s, right? Eleanor’s already there?” 

She nods. “Yeah, El and Fab should be there already.” 

“Are you going to tell me where we’re going right now?” 

Devi leans back in her seat, stretching her legs out on the dashboard, casually placing both arms behind her head, and Ben scowls at her. “Get your legs off of my car.” 

She winks at him, unexpectedly flirty. “Don’t pretend you don’t like staring at my legs, Ben.” 

Ben groans, shaking his head as he takes a turn onto Fabiola’s street. “I know you always call me incorrigible, but that’s you.” 

Devi grins at him, crossing her legs. “I learned from the best.” 

“Devi,” he groans. “You can’t do this.” 

She pouts, batting her lashes at him. “Why not? It’s a lot of fun.” 

“Uh, cause your friends are here,” he says, pointing out the window, where both Eleanor and Fabiola are crossing her lawn. 

She turns her head and follows the line of his finger, frowning a little bit. “I can still do it, I’ll just have to be a bit more covert.” 

“Are we going to turn this into a competition?” he smirks. 

“If you think you can keep up,” she quips, turning to the back when Fabiola and Eleanor climb in. 

“Hey guys,” Eleanor says. 

“What’s the plan for today?” Fabiola asks. 

Devi and Eleanor exchange a smug grin, and Ben feels his stomach flutter with nerves. “Uh, what’s going on?” 

Devi turns to him, smirking. “We need you to get us into the house on  _ The Bachelor.” _

Ben blinks and stares at them. “Excuse me,  _ what?” _

_ “What?” _ Fabiola says as well. 

Eleanor shrugs. “Come on, Benjamin. Use those connections you’re always bragging that you’ve got. Pull some strings. Let’s get a little reckless.” 

“A little  _ reckless? _ This isn’t a little reckless. Are you guys  _ out of your minds? _ You want me to help you break into the house that’s on  _ The Bachelor?” _

“I need to know,” Devi insists. “There has to be like, something in the water that makes those contestants do the dumbest things.” 

Fabiola groans, pinching her nose. “Devi, El, you guys cannot be serious. That show is fucked up.” 

“Yeah,” Ben insists. “There are so many misogynistic undertones that are really damaging, not to mention a lot of the inherent racism, homophobia, fatphobia—” 

“Honestly, I just thought you were fucking idiots for thinking you could get in with the security system that house probably has,” Fabiola cuts in. “But like, good job on the activism, Ben,” she says, condescendingly patting his back. 

“I mean it!” he insists. 

Fabiola rolls her eyes. “Yeah, that’s the thing. I know you do.” 

“Anyways,” Eleanor says, trying to regain control of the conversation. “I need to know.” 

Devi crosses her arms. “Come on, Ben. If you help us break in, we won’t need to deal with the security system.” 

She and Eleanor clasp their hands together and look at him with pleading eyes. Fabiola sighs heavily. “Ugh, just give in, Ben. They won’t give up until you do.” 

Ben groans. “Guys.” 

Eleanor gives him those fucking doe-eyes that he can’t resist. “Come  _ on, _ Ben. I’m like, 82% sure Chris Harrison is an android. I need to  _ know.” _

He sighs, pulling out his phone. “The house is in Agoura Hills. It’s barely thirty minutes away.” 

“Yes!” Devi shrieks, hugging him. “We’re gonna break into the  _ The Bachelor _ mansion!” she cries, turning to Eleanor. 

Fabiola catches Ben’s eyes as the other two shriek, rolling her eyes. “I can’t believe this,” she sighs. 

“Agoura Hills, here we come!” Eleanor says, giggling. She hands her phone to Devi. “Now, music!” 

“No.” Ben says flatly. “I’m driving you, I let you guys talk me into breaking into this house, I’m in control of the music.” 

He turns the radio on and pulls away from the curb, and Devi immediately starts fiddling with the controls. “David,  _ stop.”  _

“Uh, I’m sorry, but I’m not letting Fabiola and Eleanor’s ears bleed because of your horrid music,” she snaps back. 

Ben groans, letting his head thud against his headrest as they stop at a red light. “It’s not horrid. Stop doing that.” He smacks her hand lightly with his as she continues to fiddle with the controls, but then the light turns green and he steps on the gas. 

“Ben!” Devi snaps. “Come  _ on. _ Let me play something decent.” 

He scowls at her. “I would hardly classify the synth pop music you listen to as decent.” 

“Oh, it’s still better than the drivel you listen to!” 

“You’re calling Paganini, Mozart, and Beethoven  _ drivel?” _ he nearly screeches, so offended at the accusation he can barely comprehend it. 

“Yes, yes I  _ am!” _

“Those are legendary composers!” 

“You know who’s the real legendary composer? Lizzo. Hozier. Marina,” she says, listing them off on her fingers. 

“Ok, ok!” Eleanor yells. “Shut  _ up. _ I’m just gonna put on something everyone likes.” 

Fabiola glances at her. “Everyone likes 80’s rock?” she suggests. 

Eleanor shoots him a sharp glance through the dashboard mirror. “Are you ok with that, Benjamin?” 

“Of course,” he grumbles, taking the exit onto the highway. He’s gotten a lot better at driving here over the past two and a half years, repeated practice, and everything, but he’s still careful. “Classic rock is amazing.” 

“Glad to see you have taste in  _ something, _ Gross,” Devi says, shifting and stretching her legs out even more. Out of the corner of his eye, Ben can see her shoot him a smirk. 

“I like to think I have pretty good judgement with a lot of things,” he comments, fingers tightening around the steering wheel. “I’ve shown you a few times.” 

Devi flushes pink. “Still not convinced me yet.” 

“Ugh, can you two maybe stop flirting and  _ talk _ to us?” Eleanor says. 

They shut up instantly, Devi wincing. “Right, yeah, sorry, El.” 

Eleanor crosses her arms on the back of Devi’s seat and smirks. “So, Benjamin. What’s your plan for getting into this house?” 

Ben opens his mouth, and then shuts it. Maybe he can have a little fun with this. 

He glances over at Devi, and smirks. “Well, it’s a bit complex. I think we’re going to need to work this out on our way there.” 

Devi’s eyebrow arches in interest, and she smiles, a playful touch to it. “Well,” she smirks. “Why don’t you tell us?” 

* * *

He pulls up in front of the house, well, a bit further away, down the street, twenty minutes later. 

“Ok,” he says, unbuckling his seatbelt. “You guys know the plan, right?” 

Devi nods seriously, finally pulling her legs off the dashboard and turning to face them, Eleanor and Fabiola huddling in close. “Ok, so you’re going to go around back to disable to alarm while Eleanor, Fabiola, and I wait out here. When it’s ok, you’ll text us, and we’ll jump the fence and let you in the back gate since it unlocks from the inside without the keys. But we have to do it within two minutes of you texting us, or the alarm will re-enable.” 

Ben nods. “Yup. You guys sure about this?” he says, raising his eyebrow. “If we get caught….” he trails off. 

Devi, for the first time, looks a bit uncomfortable. “Right. We have colleges to be at.” 

Eleanor frowns, crossing her arms. “Please, Devi. I never took you for a quitter.” 

Devi scowls at her. “Fine. Let’s do this.” 

Ben hops out of the car. “Wait for my signal, ok?” 

He ducks out of the way then, jogging around the back of the house. 

See, here’s the thing. They’re not filming right now. And when  _ The Bachelor _ isn’t filming, well, the security on the house is insanely lax. In fact, there’s not even an alarm system for him to disengage. He just wanted to mess with the girls. All he had to do, really, was make a call when they stopped at a gas station to get the one lone security guard they had to leave him the keys. 

Ben walks around to the back gate and opens his text messages. The keys should be under the planter pot with the lilies. He pulls them out and unlocks the door, stepping into the ridiculous fancy grounds. 

He then pulls his phone out, texting the girls. 

A second later, he feels a smile cross his face as he hears squabbling. 

“Devi!” he hears a voice hiss, who he thinks might be Eleanor’s. “I need to go first!” 

“Uh, why?” Devi hisses back. 

“Because I’m the shortest,” she argues. “I should go first because I can’t help anyone else climb over.” 

“That is rather logical reasoning,” Fabiola’s voice echoes. 

“Oh, come on!” Devi groans. “I wanted to be the first one. Fab, you couldn’t have brought one of your robots here to help us out, or something?” 

“Fuck, Devi, we need to  _ go. _ We have to let Ben in!” Eleanor screeches. 

“Fine, fine,” Devi concedes. She sighs. “Go, Eleanor.” 

Ben ducks behind one of the pillars, pulling off his jacket, and watches as Eleanor tumbles over the wall, rather ungracefully. “Ow,” she groans, clambering out of the way. “You guys couldn’t have stuck the landing a bit better?” 

Devi comes next, nearly crashing into Eleanor, and Ben has to bite back a smile at the disgruntled impression she has on her face when she stands up. “Come on, Fab!” she hisses, up at the wall. 

Honestly, this is  _ way _ too much fun. 

Fabiola follows, and unlike the other two, she drops down gracefully. “How was that so easy for you?” Devi hisses. 

Fabiola smirks at her. “Well, when you’re not a  _ midget, _ a lot of things are easy.” 

“I take  _ so _ much offense to that,” Eleanor snaps. 

“I mean, technically, I can’t control that,” Devi points out. “That’s all genetics.” 

“Ok, fuck, guys, we gotta open the back gate!” 

“Right, shit, right,” Devi swears. “Ok, ok.” 

She opens the back gate, poking her head out. “Ben! Where the fuck are you?” 

“Right here,” he says, stepping back from behind the pillar. 

All three of them  _ scream, _ and he winces, slapping his hands over his ears.  _ Fuck, _ that’s loud. 

Devi whirls around, gaping at him. “How the fuck did you get in?” 

“Simple,” he says, shrugging. “I just used the keys.” 

She stalks over to him, punching him in the chest. “What? The keys!” she shrieks. “You had keys?” 

Ben smirks. “Come on, David. You didn’t really think it was going to be hard to break in.” 

“Wait, what?” Eleanor says, stepping forward. 

“I just called and got the security guard to take his break a bit early and leave me the keys to the house so we could get in.” 

Devi gapes at him. “But—what about all of the security?” 

He laughs, shaking his head. “There’s not much when there’s no filming going on. We didn’t need any of this, you know.” 

“And you just—just let us believe that?” Devi yells, planting her hands on her hips. 

“Consider it payment for enlisting me as a chauffeur and not actually paying me,” he smirks. 

Devi growls at him, reaching out and shoving him. “You’re such a dick.” 

He laughs, even as he stumbles back a bit. “I’ll take that. It’s a fair cop.” 

She shoves him again, and he stumbles back. “Such. A. Dick.” She punctuates each statement with a shove, and he stumbles back the whole time, but he keeps laughing. 

He raises his hands in surrender. “Sorry, David.” 

“Dick,” she says, once more, and shoves him. 

Ben stumbles back, but instead of hitting the firm stone of the pool yard, his foot catches on the edge. 

Things happen very fast after that: he flails his arms, falling backwards, looking for something to hold onto, manages to catch Devi’s arm, and tugs, and then they’re both falling, and he closes his eyes just before they topple into the pool. 

The cool water is a shock to his systems, and he kicks up instantly, surfacing, coughing. 

“You pushed me into the pool!” he says, gaping at her. 

“You pulled me in with you!” she says, treading water and gaping back at him. 

“Aren’t you used to falling into pools while Eleanor and Fabiola watch?” he says dryly. 

“This is true,” Fabiola comments, glancing down at them. “It’s not like this is the first time this has happened.” 

Devi shoots her best friend a glare before turning to him. “You’re just lucky my phone wasn’t in my pocket when you pulled me in, asshole,” she bites out. 

Devi accepts Fabiola’s outstretched hand and pulls herself out of the pool, shivering. “I can’t believe you did that.” 

“I can’t believe you pushed me in,” he groans, helping himself up out of the pool.

Devi scowls at him. “You’re insane.”

He rolls his eyes and turns back to Eleanor. “It was fun at least, wasn’t it?” 

Eleanor laughs, walking over to the towel rack and grabbing two towels, tossing them at him and Devi. “Yes, it was at least very fun.” 

“Eleanor!” Devi stomps her foot like a petulant little child. “You can’t take his side!” 

Eleanor shrugs, tucking the towel more securely around Devi’s shoulders, coming around to do the same to Ben, who flashes her a grateful smile. “Why not? He’s my friend.” 

“Betrayal of sisterhood, right there,” Devi says somberly, jabbing her finger at Eleanor. “This will not be forgotten. I swear vengeance on you for this treachery.” 

“Calm down, Devi,” Eleanor smirks, rolling her eyes. “And you guys say  _ I’m _ the dramatic ones, fucking hell. I agree with him on this  _ one thing. _ You know I’d push him overboard if it was the only way to get you a corn chip.”

Ben spreads his arms, mouth dropping open. “Uh, I’m still here!” 

“I know,” Eleanor says casually, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “Now, I want to see this house!” 

She and Fabiola take off, stomping into the house, and Ben trails after tham, the cool air amplified by the fact that he’s still soaking. 

“So,” he whispers, moving a bit closer to Devi. “Did you do that just to see me dripping wet?” 

She reaches out and smacks him in the chest without even blinking. “More of an argument I’d make for you, you perv,” she snorts. 

Ben throws his head back and laughs. “Whatever you say, David.” 

“I do say, in fact.” 

He just shakes his head and laughs again, following their friends into the house.

* * *

It is six twenty seven pm when they end up at the beach. 

Not Malibu. Never Malibu, because Ben does not think he can go back there, if ever. There are some places, he thinks, that settle in your soul the same way people do, that you leave your pieces of yourself at. Malibu is one of them. 

But it is six twenty seven pm when they end up on the beach, a nameless one or the other. He has dropped Fabiola and Eleanor off at Fabiola’s house, and now he and Devi have come here. 

He does not know why she asked to come here, but he takes her anyway. 

The wind whips her hair, frizzy and tangled and a mess, and she sweeps it up into a bun, loose strands escaping it everywhere. He lingers on the nape of her neck, resists the urge to press his lips against that smooth span of skin. 

Ben pockets his keys, smells salty, ocean air. 

(even if this is not malibu, it is still a beach, and ever since sophomore year he has never been able to come back to a beach without thinking of devi, her salty lips pressed against his, her hand on his cheek and his heart bursting with a thousand possibilities that—) 

Ben clears his throat, stuffing his hands in his pockets and ambling towards her. “So why did you want to come here?” 

Devi closes her eyes, breathes in the ocean air. “I don’t know,” she murmurs. “I just wanted to.” 

She opens her eyes and turns around, smiling softly at him. “Come on.”

Before he can even say anything, she’s already setting off towards the beach. Ben follows her, wincing as sand pours into his sneakers. 

“David,” he groans. “I’m going to have to get rid of these shoes.” 

“Who cares, Ben?” Of course she, in her sandals, is totally unbothered, but he’s suffering. 

“I care!” he insists. “These are the Air Jordan—” 

“I don’t care.” 

“They were $140!” 

“Did they come with fucking jetpack boots?” she snorts, flopping down on the sand, kicking her shoes off. “Cause if they cost that much, you best believe those should make like Hermes’ sandals and sprout wings so you don’t have to walk everywhere.” 

He scowls at her, but—to be fair, she has a point. Ben tugs off his shoes and socks, sitting down next to her, stretching his legs out in the same way and leaning back on his hands. 

Ben doesn’t say anything, just digs his hands into the sand and enjoys the warm summer air. He tips his head back, breathing, watching as the waves crash against the shoreline. “Devi, why did you bring me here?” he asks, again. 

She breathes in, deep. “I love the sea, Ben. And since I’m—we’re—leaving for Princeton in the fall, the time I get to spend at the beach is finite. New Jersey isn’t exactly known for its sandy strips.” 

“Isn’t there that show?  _ Jersey Shore?” _

She shoulder-checks him gently, shaking her head. “You’re ridiculous,” she laughs. “No, I just—I missed the sea. Isn’t that enough?” Devi looks over at him, a question swimming in her eyes. 

(he is tidally locked into her, just like how the moon is tidally locked into the earth) 

“Yeah. That’s enough.” 

Flashing him a quick smile, Devi turns back to the sea, pulling her knees up to her chest, resting her chin on them. “Thank you for driving us around today.” 

Ben reaches out, and hesitates, his hand hovering in the air, before he lets it fall on her shoulder. “Any time.” He squeezes her shoulder briefly, before pulling his hand away. 

Devi sighs, resting her head on his shoulder, breathing softly. “I’m gonna miss this.” 

Ben rests his cheek on her head. “Me too.” 

She wraps her arms around his, tucking herself securely into his side. “I don’t want today to end.” He can hear her breathe, and he wonders if the rapid fire beat pounding in his ears is her heartbeat or his. 

“Find a black hole.” Her fingers dance up his arm to the crook of his elbow and then back again, and he knows that she can feel the way his heart pounds if she presses her fingers against his wrist. “Time dilation. Things will slow down.” 

“I’d rather just have one of Hermione’s Time-Turners.” 

“Also a good choice,” he says. “Perhaps a TARDIS?” 

“A DeLorean?” she offers up. 

“A wardrobe?” 

“Hmm, that’s only helpful if I’m trying to find Narnia.” 

“Who wouldn’t want to find Narnia?” he points out. Devi huffs out a laugh and shifts, watching the waves crashing against the sand. 

“Fair point. I’ve always been more of a Hogwarts gal myself.” 

“I think everyone is.”

Devi laughs loudly then, bright and clear and beautiful, the same way a bolt of lightning sounds when striking a tree. He thinks back to how it felt to kiss her for the first time after Malibu: like he was struck with a lightning bolt. Hearing her laugh is a lot like that: pure energy, uncontained, free, almost mythical. 

“You’re such a Slytherin sometimes, you know that?” 

“I take that as a compliment.” 

“And right there,” she says, her voice infused with warmth. It makes him feel like warm honey is flowing through his veins instead of blood, like an aphrodisiac has been injected into his systems instead of plasma. “That is exactly why you are a Slytherin.” 

Ben smirks. “I’m refusing to take anything you said as anything but the utmost of compliments.” 

“You know, if that’s the attitude you have about everything anyone says to you, I’m starting to see why you have such a big head.” 

“It’s all in the perception, David.” 

She snorts. “Perception. Yeah, that’s just another name for delusion.” 

He bursts out laughing at that, his shoulders shaking. “Ok then,” he wheezes. “Come on.” He pulls away from her and stands up, holding his hand out. “Let’s go.” 

“Where are we going?” she says, but places her hand in his anyways. He pulls her up easy, smirking. 

“Where else to go?” 

Devi tilts her head, narrowing her eyes at him. “What?” 

Ben grins, and leans down, wrapping his arms around her legs and picking her up, tossing her over his shoulder. “Ben!” she shrieks,

“We’re at the beach, David,” he calls, walking towards the surf. “Enjoy it.” 

Devi lands punches on his back, trying to kick her legs. “Ben! Put me the fuck down, or you’re gonna regret it!” 

He snorts. “Ok, sure, I believe you.” 

“Benjamin Gross,” she snaps. “If you do not put me down  _ this second, _ I am going to kill you, slowly, painfully, and I will take my time.” 

Ben smirks, the waves splashing against his ankles. “Ok.” 

He pulls her off of his shoulder, and drops her in the surf.

The water isn’t anywhere near high enough to be worrying, but Devi sputters at him all the same, shocked. “Ben! I’m gonna fucking kill you,” she growls, standing up. 

He backs away slowly, still grinning. “That’s quite a threat, David.” 

Devi takes a step forward. And then another. And another. “You know me.” Her mouth curls up into a dangerous smirk, a promise flashing in her eyes. “I always keep my promises.” 

Ben cocks his head to the side, backing away slowly, so as not to startle her. “Really. Show me.” 

Devi lunges after him, and Ben takes off, laughing. 

“You asshole!” he can hear her shriek. “Come back here!” 

“Sorry, Devi!” He runs, not even sparing a glance behind him. “Self-preservation!” 

“Maybe you should have thought about that before you tossed me in the ocean!” 

“What can I say?” he calls, focusing on the smack of her feet against the water. “Got caught up in the moment!” 

Devi continues to chase him, and Ben picks up the pace, laughing. He only laughs like this when he is with Devi. 

(like the crack of thunder, wild and chaotic and massive, purely physical and without reservations. laughing with her is a natural disaster all on its own: a forest fire in particular, healing and destructive in equal measure) 

“Oh, I’ll show you,” she grumbles, and he realizes, in a horrifying turn of events, she’s way closer than he thought she was.

His suspicions are confirmed when he feels one hundred and twenty pounds of Indian chick leap onto his back, knocking the air out of him. She wraps her arms around his neck, her legs around his waist. 

“Ha!” she yells, triumphantly. “Got you.” 

“Holy shit, Devi,” he groans, slotting his hands underneath her legs to push her up on his back into a more comfortable position, holding her there. “Give a guy a little warning next time, would you?” 

Devi’s hair brushes his cheek, and her mouth is insanely close to his ear when she dips her head down and whispers, “like the warning you gave me?” 

He chokes out a laugh, suddenly realizing how high up on her thighs his hands are and that she’s wearing shorts, so his palms are pressed against her bare skin, which is impossibly hot. 

“Ok,” he says. “Fair point.” 

Devi laughs, tightening her legs and arms around him, like a koala bear. “You know I’m always right, Gross.” She digs her knee into his side, harshly, for a quick moment. “Now. Turn around. I wanna watch the sunset.” 

“On my back?” he groans. 

“Yes, on your back,” she snaps. “Turn the fuck around.” 

Ben sighs, turning literally maybe three degrees so that he’s facing the ocean. “You know, I’m not your slave. You can’t just tell me what to do in the expectation that I’ll do it.” 

“Can’t I?” she hums. Devi rests her chin on his shoulder, her breath ghosting his cheek as she sighs. “Don’t front, idiot.” 

He snorts. “It’s not fronting if you at least pay me for my efforts.” 

“That’s called prostitution, Gross, and illegal in California.” 

He flushes bright red. “That’s not what I was talking about!” 

“Mmm,” Devi hums, mocking and condescending. “Sure it wasn’t.” 

Ben rolls his eyes and turns his focus back to the sunset, crimson and lavender and canary, all at the same time. “Pretty,” he whispers. 

She hums, tightening her arms around him the slightest bit. “I always liked sunsets better than sunrises.” 

“Of course you would. They’re the objectively worse option of the two.” 

“Ok, sorry,  _ Ben. _ I didn’t know you conducted a study on sunrises versus sunsets.” 

“I’m amazing, David. You have no idea what I can do in twenty seconds.” 

She snorts. “Show me the fucking study. I need to make sure your data wasn’t faulty.” 

Ben pushes her up a little higher, fingers digging into her thighs firmly, and her skin is insanely hot and she smells  _ so _ good, like jasmine and the sea. It’s intoxicating, a combination he hasn’t smelled in two years and a half years. “Faulty data? Do you really not trust my judgement that much?” 

“Well, your data resulted in you making the judgement that sunrises are better than sunsets. That’s just wrong.” 

He laughs quietly, shaking his head. “Sunrises are better, Devi.” 

“You have to get up so early to see them, Ben,” she points out. 

“They’re worth it, though.” 

“But you’re already awake for sunsets.” 

“Yeah but then it gets dark after. Sunrises are like, providing hope, you know? The dawn of a new day.” 

Devi tilts her head, her nose grazing his cheek. “Yeah but after a sunset comes, you can see the night. Haven’t you ever seen the whole galaxy? That’s real beauty.” 

“That’s a good point,” he concedes.

She shifts then, wiggling on his back. “Hey, can you put me down, please?” 

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” he murmurs, slipping his hands from under her thighs and letting her drop back down to the beach. She sighs, coming to stand next to him, the surf lapping at their ankles. 

“You wanna know something else about sunsets that makes them superior to sunrises?” 

Ben raises an eyebrow. “What?” 

“This.” Devi turns to him, curls her hand into his shirt collar, and tugs, their lips crashing together. 

Ben freezes against her in shock, before he realizes what’s happening and he kisses her back, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her flush against him, other hand sweeping up to dig into her hair, tilting her head back a bit. 

Devi sweeps her tongue into his mouth, her hand cupping his jaw while the other lets go of his shirt collar to curl around his bicep, nails digging into his skin. She tastes like cherries even more so than usual, impossibly exhilarating, and his head spins from how addictive it is. He kisses her until his lungs burn, until he’s sure his lips are swollen, until he knows they will become chapped. 

It is soft and sweet, and yet he hungers for more, for her hand in his and their smiles pressed against one another. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get enough. 

He breaks away first, his head dizzy, sucking in oxygen. 

“There,” Devi rasps, her lips pink. “You can do that with sunsets.” 

Ben shakes his head, forcing himself to pull his hands away from her. “You play dirty.” 

Devi grins at him, turning back to the sky and watching as the last fragments of sunlight slip away, night overtaking the beach. She sighs, breathing out softly. They stand in silence for a few more minutes, watching as the waves crash against the sand, before she says something. 

“This is my mom’s favorite time of day.” 

“Now?” 

“Just after the sun sets,” she murmurs. “I’ll miss her.” 

She wraps her arms around herself, and he tugs off his jacket, tucking it around her shoulders. She flashes him a grateful smile. “When I was like, fourteen, all I could think about was getting away from her. And like, I still want to go to Princeton. I think it’s a great school and good for the both of us. But I’m going to miss her. Like, actually miss her.” 

“You can call, you know?” 

Devi nods, pulling the jacket tighter around herself. “I know. I’ll still miss my mom. I know she’ll miss me.” 

“Wish I could say the same about mine.” 

Ben can’t look at her right now, not really, but he knows the exact expression on her face; a little pity, a lot sadness, a touch of irritation. It’s the one she always gets when he mentions his parents. 

“Fuck them,” she announces.

He barks out a bitter laugh, unexpectedly. “What?” 

Devi nods, petulantly, like a child. “Fuck. Them. You have other people who will miss you. Like Fab and Eve. Patty. You’ll be missed.” 

Ben smiles at that. “That’s a nice thought.” 

“It’s reality.” 

“You’re not on that list. You won’t miss me?” 

The wind pulls stray locks of hair from her bun and whips them around her face, and her cheeks are pink as she looks up at the sky, but from what, he can’t tell. “Well,” she says. “If you’re coming with me, what’s the point in missing you?” 

(but he will miss her. no matter where they are going what they have here, right now, will never happen again, and he will miss this, will miss being here with her) 

“Hmm. Valid.” 

“You know I’m always right, Gross,” she says, laughing. 

“Might I remind you, valedictorian hasn’t been picked yet,” he points out. 

She throws her head back and laughs. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Ben, we both know I’m getting it.” 

Ben shakes his head, biting back a smile. “Living in such a delusional world. What must that be like?”

Devi laughs at that again, turning to him fully and smiling. “God, Ben,” she breathes. “You’re the one under the delusion.” She shakes her head. “Thinking you’re smarter than me.” 

“So the delusion is this world, then, is it? It’s kinda nice,” he comments, looking around. “Pretty ocean, the stars above us, and we live in SoCal. Looks like my mind isn’t that messed up.” 

Devi reaches for his hand, and squeezes it, exactly once, although she leaves her fingers laced in his. “A shared delusion we’re living in, then.” 

He locks eyes with her, feels his body lose all of the oxygen in it, head spinning, before he takes a deep breath in and it feels like everything in him has been unlocked. “Is it a good one?” 

Devi blinks, a small smile crossing her face. “Yeah. It’s a good one.” 

He grins back. “Of course it is. You’re with me.” 

She scoffs, rolling her eyes, but she doesn’t refute his statement. “Just, shut the fuck up, you asshole. Look at the stars.” 

He listens to her, looks up at the stars and takes in the whole of the Milky Way Galaxy, tilted on its side. From the outside, looking in, he thinks. 

Ben glances at Devi, takes her in, drinks her in like one drinks in the night sky after living in the city for years. Her eyes are closed, tipped up to the heavens, face blissfully slack. 

“Stop ogling me, Ben,” she murmurs. 

He blushes pink. “I wasn’t ogling you.” 

“Sure you weren’t. Come on. Look at the sky instead.” 

But he would rather look at her instead of all the stars in the universe. 

Because he loves her. 

(he is in love with her. it slams into him at full force, the kind he thinks cosmonauts experience at liftoff. devi is the entirety of the milky way, and he was simply the star that formed slightly outside of her. but this, this realization that he is hopelessly, madly, insanely in love with her makes him understand that he is no longer outside the milky way. he has fallen in, just like stars in the halo of the galaxy have fallen in, and he has no reservations about whether or not he will ever be able to get out)

His hands shake, and he resists the urge to step away from her. This is not—there is no uncertainty here. There is not a half-second hesitation here. He does not  _ think _ he loves her. 

He just does. 

Ben loves her. He is  _ in love  _ with her and oh, god, what has he done?

He has broken the cardinal rule of their contract and she doesn’t feel the same way. She never will. 

(because, before, loving her was like watching a variable star burn—uncertain and changing in brightness. before, loving her was an unstable nuclear reaction, something that was unpredictable and irrational and fickle, something that could not be relied on, something he was not sure of. but now, now loving her is the steady nuclear reaction that happens at the core of the sun. he has never been more sure of anything in his life)

His hands shake and he clears his throat. “De—Devi,” he says, hoping his voice doesn’t come out utterly wrecked. “We should go.” 

“Hmm,” she hums, a smile crossing her lips. “Yeah, you’re probably right.” 

He can’t find it in himself to smile when she opens her eyes and smiles at him, turning around and traipsing back towards their things to slip her sandals on. 

As he watches her, he wonders how,  _ how, _ he could have been so foolish for so long? How he could have been so oblivious?

(this, the realization that he loves her, is the newest thing. not the fact that he loves her. in some deep, dark, locked up part of him, ben knows he has always loved devi. he has loved her forever, and he will love her forever. the fact that he loves her, it is like light traveling from a quasar galaxy: a remnant from the very distant past) 

There is, of course, the fact that he cannot be with her. And it breaks his own heart, shatters it into pieces, almost explosively, like a star going nuclear. Except this time there is no beauty in the supernova to be found, just pain.

Ben swallows roughly, follows her to the car and starts it. He wonders how he will breathe. 

As he pulls away from the beach, he glances at Devi, who’s looking out the window, quiet. 

(he is so thankful for that, because he is not sure what he would do if she tried to talk to him) 

Ben’s fingers grip the steering wheel tighter, and he pours all of his energy into focusing on driving home, all of his energy into the road and getting them home safe. 

But he can’t—he can’t do this anymore. He can’t halfway have her. This bullshit where he sleeps with her and kisses her and holds her in his arms and feels the beat of her heart—and then lets her go is too much. 

This halfway happy isn’t enough for him. He needs more than sex, more than physical intimacy from her, and it’s not  _ fair _ for him to want that. 

(it is like malibu all over again, all false pretenses stripped away) 

Ben does not expect anything from her, but he can’t—do this anymore. He can’t kiss her when they have sex and pull back when they hang out. He can’t love her body and not love  _ her. _ Not anymore. 

So this has to end. It’s not—healthy, to love her like this and sleep with her and be with her. It’s not. 

(and he is killing their friendship with one blow as well. he knows that) 

He doesn’t think he’s going to live—to survive, really, because living a life without Devi isn’t really living at all—any better without her, really, but he needs to. He needs to try, at least. 

His hands shake as he pulls up to her house. Devi grabs her stuff, giving him a smile. “Thanks, Ben. I’ll see you later?” 

“Wait, Devi.” 

His voice is sharp and cutting and hard, like the blade of the knife sliding into his gut right now. 

Devi turns back, brow furrowed at the tone in his voice. “Ben?” 

Ben swallows roughly, summoning the courage—maybe just the strength, really, because what he is doing right now is nothing if not cowardly—to look her in the eyes. “I want to stop.” 

She blinks, mouth parting slightly as her brows knit together. “I’m—huh?” 

“This.” He gestures between them, hoping she can’t see the way his other hand shakes. “I want to—to stop this.” 

“This?” she repeats, faintly. “Wait, what?” 

“Us.” 

“You want to stop us.” Her mouth snaps closed, and he can see,  _ see _ her retreat into herself, cold and small and locked away. “Sleeping together.” 

His hands curl into fists, and he looks down. “Yes.” 

“But—but why?” she sputters. He flicks his eyes back to her, and she’s staring at him, brown eyes swimming with confusion. “I don’t—what the  _ fuck,  _ Ben?” 

“I just think we should stop, Devi,” he says, quietly. 

Devi clenches her jaw, finger shaking as she points at him. “You’re just gonna say that without giving me any sort of  _ reason?” _

“The contract states that I don’t—” 

_ “Fuck the contract!” _ she screams. “What the  _ fuck? _ I deserve a fucking reason!” 

He flinches, crushing the pieces of his heart under the heel of his boot, twisting the knife in his gut as he says, “I think it would just be good. For us to—to stop before we get to Princeton. A clean break.” 

“I—a clean  _ fucking  _ break?” she yells, throwing her hands up in the air. “A clean break? Is that what you want, a clean break?” 

Ben closes his eyes. He can’t look at her right now. “Devi,” he breathes. 

“No, Ben,” she says. A sharp poke at his chest forces him to open his eyes again, and she is right there, in her beautiful, fierce, furious glory. 

He loves her so much it  _ hurts. _

Nothing hurts as much as the knowledge she won’t ever love him back. 

“A clean break,” she repeats. “You despise me that much? I disgust you, huh?” Her voice is full of vitriol, full of venom, and he’s never heard it so enraged. “You can’t bear to fuck someone as disgusting as me?” 

“You know that’s not it at all,” he snaps. “Don’t talk about yourself like that.” 

“Then  _ why? _ Because, right now, Ben, you’re being a goddamn pussy. Tell me.” 

(he almost opens his mouth to say why to tell her that he’s fallen in love with her and he’s so so sorry about it but then his eye catches her necklace and she still doesn’t want to talk about what happened and sophomore year comes rushing back—) 

“I told you, Devi,” he says, tiredly. He presses his fingers against his eyes so he doesn’t have to look at her, feeling the bile rise up in the back of his throat, the knot growing ever tighter. “I just think we should stop now. Before we get to Princeton. You’ll have the freedom to date anyone you want this way.” 

He can hear her teeth clack as she snaps her jaw shut, clenching it. “So that’s it,” she scoffs, shaking her head. “You just want to stop.” 

“I’m doing this for the both of us, Devi,” he murmurs. Fuck, he needs to breathe, needs to take in oxygen so that he can continue to live, but he can’t. His chest feels crushed, as easily as a tornado crushes a tree trunk in the wind. 

(loving devi is like nothing else in the world. there is no celestial body or principle of science he can compare her to because loving her is like nothing else he has ever felt) 

Devi laughs, high, brittle,  _ bitter. _ “For the both of us,” she repeats, shaking her head. “Right. For fuck’s sake. We both know you’re not doing this for the both of us,  _ Ben,”  _ she spits. “But you won’t tell me actually why.” 

She clambers to get out of the car, and he watches her, watches her take the last vestiges of his heart along with him. His chest feels open, now, a wound bleeding freely, and hollow. He’s bleeding into his chest cavity at the loss of his heart and it’s compressing his lungs so he can’t breath. Losing her wreaks more havoc on his body than any physical thing could. 

“Devi.” She turns back to look at him as she leaves the car. 

(she is still wearing his jacket and the necklace he got her) 

“I’m sorry.” 

She laughs again, slightly manic, shaking her head. “No, Ben. You’re not.” 

“Devi—” he tries. 

She raises a hand, cutting him off. “You don’t need me anymore,” she spits. “Go fuck yourself, Ben.” 

Devi slams the car door behind her, and he winces, although he knew this was coming. He knew she would be angry about this. 

But he had to do it, and he tells himself this before he regrets it.

(he already does) 

He watches her go, and for the first time all year, suppress the urge to run after her. 

Ben looks out the window, his hands gripping the steering wheel like it’s his lifeline. 

He feels numb, now, like he can’t actually feel anything. His body has gone into shock, won’t let him process the pain of losing her, to keep him alive. To get him to somewhere akin to safety. 

Driving home is a blur. He doesn’t remember a single thing that happens, and frankly, he’s not sure how he doesn’t die. But he retreats to his room instantly, flopping face first on the covers. He buries his face in them, ignoring the way his lungs burn for oxygen. 

Ben doesn’t cry. He doesn’t.

(he does) 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> your comments and kudos make me happier than devi winning at ping-pong! come talk to me about the show! you can find me on tumblr: @[parkersedith](https://parkersedithtumblr.com)


	15. act xv: you’re messin’ up my mind and fillin’ up my senses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Tennyson said, “'tis better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all.”_
> 
> _Ben would just like to say, fuck you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is brought to you by cori's high nhie review sessions and maggie's induction into est time
> 
> hey guys! welcome to the penultimate chapter of this fic! i had...a Time and a Half writing this chapter. it's definitely another emotional rollercoaster, but i hope you guys liked it! i worked really hard on it and i tried to make everything worth your time. it really was....quite a lot, lol. it's also like, just a lot of talking, lmao, cause i needed these guys to talk to their friends
> 
> the final chapter, sorry to say, will be taking a bit longer, past the five day schedule i usually have, as i'm on vacation with my family, but it won't take too long, as i'm determined to finish this fic before i head to uni
> 
> major thanks to leila for beta-ing this chapter, and for the science as well. i love you!!
> 
> (chapter title from “here you come again” by dolly parton)
> 
> enjoy this, guys! we've only got one more left! thank you!!!

She wakes up the day after Ben ends things between them and resolves not to cry. 

It doesn’t matter _how_ much it feels like her heart has been torn out of her chest, how much it hurts to even breathe, how much she can’t even open her eyes, how much she doesn’t want to get out of bed and lie here forever, trying to work up the energy to go to school, where she knows she’ll see him. 

None of those things matter. 

Devi clenches her teeth and pushes herself up, sitting. She glances over at her desk chair, where she dropped his jacket—she can’t believe she still has his fucking _jacket_ —last night, and tries to prevent nausea from boiling up in her stomach. 

She doesn’t quite succeed, and barely manages to bolt from her bed before she’s dry heaving over the toilet, stomach clenching painfully. 

Devi slumps back on her bathroom floor and squeezes her eyes shut tightly. “Ok,” she murmurs, quietly, to herself. “You will not cry. You’re fine. You’re fine.” 

(she’s not fine) 

She pushes herself up and clutches the sink, swaying slightly. She looks at herself in the mirror, hair hanging limply, eyes dark and sunken, and skin blotchy and pale and gaunt all at the same time. Her lips curl into a sneer, and she barely manages to resist the urge to send her fist into the mirror. Only the knowledge that she would cut her hand stops her. 

Fine. Fuck Ben. Seriously, screw him. She doesn’t need him. And she’s _not_ going to school like this. She’s going to show up and show him _exactly_ what he’s missing. 

Devi stalks out of her bathroom and throws open her closet doors. The best revenge is a life well lived, isn’t it?

She rips the clothes off the hanger and tosses them behind her, searching for something that skates the edge of the school’s dress code while making Ben eat his words. She’s going to fucking _destroy_ him. 

(just as much as he destroyed her) 

As Devi looks for her clothes, though, she can’t help the confusion that rises up in her, piercing through her anger. Why? Why would Ben just break things off like that? 

She—she knew this was coming. She knew this was going to have to end. 

So why does it hurt so badly? 

Devi swears again. “Fuck, just—get _dressed.”_

She pulls out a skirt—leather and probably just a little too short for the school—and finds a cute blouse that dips a little low on the neckline as well, and nods. Good. 

She showers and pulls on her clothes, does her makeup—she doesn’t think about the concealer she has to dab on, refuses to let herself think about anything other than getting to school—and pulls her hair up into a ponytail, exposing the expanse of her neck. 

Looking at herself in the mirror when she’s done, she tugs on her lip and gives herself a resolute nod. Fuck him. 

Devi grabs her keys and slips out of the house—her mom already having left for work—smoothing down her blouse on the way there. The heels are also probably just a touch too high for school, but seriously, fuck Ben. She’s thriving without him. 

Devi catches up with Fabiola and Eleanor before class, determined to avoid looking for _him_ for as long as possible. If she avoids him, then that’s a good thing.

Eleanor gives her a once-over as she approaches them, thumbs hooked around her backpack straps. “Well,” she says, a smug smile curling over her lips. “Someone looks good today.” 

Devi grins at her best friend—and although it physically hurts to smile—she hopes it looks genuine. 

(this is where she and her mother are similar, taut strings pulled on their emotions to stop them from crushing their souls. devi cannot—will not let this crush her. she is too strong for that) 

She breathes, unlocking her locker and pulling some of her textbooks out of it so she can return them today. It’s the second to last week of school, and since the majority of her classes are AP classes, she only has one final exam. 

Thank god, because right now it hurts to even breathe and she’s not sure how she’s supposed to be able to study. 

“Thank you, Eleanor,” Devi says primly, slinging her backpack back over her shoulders. “I do try.” 

Fabiola glances at her much more critically. “Why do you look like if Priyanka Chopra and Sephora were in a trainwreck?” 

“I just wanted to look nice today, Fab,” Devi says. “What, I can’t want that?” 

Fabiola purses her lips. “No, you look great. It’s just a lot of effort and I can’t be bothered.” 

Devi snorts. “Of course you can’t be bothered.” She waves a hand at her friends. “The both of you don’t need to like, work hard to look gorgeous, it’s just effortless.” 

Eleanor blushes, bright red. “You’re sweet, Devi, but same here. We just wanted to know if there was any special reason that you look even prettier today.” 

“No reason,” she says. She ducks her head down and stares at her toes, bright red through the heels. “Just thought I would look nice for the last few weeks of school. It’s not like we’re doing much in class anyways.” 

“Fair enough,” Eleanor says, tilting her head. Her eyes narrow. “You ok?” 

Devi stiffens just the slightest bit. “Yeah, of course. Why would you say that?” 

(why does she _suck_ at hiding her emotions? why can’t she be like ben, hiding her emotions under a mask? why can’t she be better at not seeming so destroyed? she needs to be better at covering herself up. she’s got those walls, thirty-five feet fall and ten feet thick, and she needs to try and rebuild them) 

Eleanor frowns, shaking her head. “No reason. You just seem a little off today.” 

“I’m fine,” she says, perhaps a bit sharper than usual. She prays her hands don’t shake as she checks her watch, seeing that it’s thirty seconds before the bell for first period rings. “I’ve got to head to class. I’ll see you guys later.” 

Her friends wave goodbye to her before they head off to their respective classes, but the nausea in her stomach only intensifies as she walks to the front door of Shapiro’s classroom. She can’t quite see Ben from this angle, but she’s sure he’s in there, the fucking nerd. 

She has five seconds, and she can’t wait any longer. 

Devi walks into the classroom, and she nearly throws up once Ben’s eyes lock on hers. 

(and suddenly she is back on prom night, suddenly she is back to four days after malibu—) 

The worst part is that his eyes don’t sweep over her body like she expected, taking in her outfit, how spectacular she knows she looks. They don’t linger on her legs, don’t lock on her neck or her arms or any part of her body. His eyes just stay locked with hers, right on her face. They don’t waver for a second. 

Devi clenches her jaw, looking away from him. No. She’s not doing this. 

Shapiro just has a movie for them today, since all their work was largely done when the AP exam happened in mid-May, so Devi pulls out her phone and hides it under her desk, crossing her legs. 

Her hands shake as she scrolls through Instagram, liking the occasional photo, but she soon bores and places her phone on her desk, propping her chin up on her hand and drumming her fingers on the desk. Ben turns around to face her, blue eyes once again locking with hers, and this time, they sweep over her body. 

Outwardly, Devi turns up her nose and doesn’t let her expression shift, not once, but internally she is barely holding it together. 

Because every time he looks at her all she can think about is prom night and Malibu and a thousand other memories they have made together that she will now have to suppress and kill and stuff down. 

It took two years to do that to Malibu, and now she has to do it for a thousand more memories and she’s not sure if she’s strong enough. 

(she is. she has to be) 

Devi doesn’t let herself look at him while he looks at her, simply shifting and crossing her legs so the skirt inches up a bit higher, exposing more of the curve of her thigh. She can still see him out of the corner of her eye as she stares at the screen, focusing on the movie, even though she couldn’t tell anyone what the movie was about.

To her surprise, though, Ben’s gaze doesn’t shift to her legs, simply focusing on the curve of her throat, and his gaze lingers there for another split second. She knows there’s no marks there, so she wonders why he’s looking at her neck. 

Devi presses a hand to her neck and freezes as soon as she feels her fingers brush cool metal. 

She’s still wearing the necklace. Purely out of habit, she must have slipped it on this morning without even realizing. 

Well aware his eyes are still on her, Devi curls her hand around the pendant and rips it off her neck. It’s a magnetic clasp, so the necklace doesn’t break, and yet Ben still flinches violently, as if he’s been shot. Devi doesn’t look at him as she drops the necklace on her desk, pulling her phone back out and dropping her gaze to it. 

What is this? What are they doing? 

Devi doesn’t tear her gaze from her phone the rest of the class, a lump in her throat. She’s going to ignore him. It’s the only way she has any hope of getting over him, she’s sure of it. 

When class ends Ben is one of the first ones out the door, an unusual occurrence for him. He’s such a suck up, he likes to stay a few minutes after the bell to chat with Shapiro. 

The second he vanishes from her line of sight, every single cell in Devi’s body relaxes, releases the tension she’s been holding in her body for what seems like the whole day. 

(the taut string pulls tighter) 

Her lip quivers as she stares at the pendant. She wants to toss it in the trash and leave it behind, but she can’t bring herself to. Not only was it insanely expensive, it had been Ben’s present to her. Because of what she told him about her _father._

Oh god, how could she have been so _stupid?_ It was always about—sex for him, wasn’t it? It was never about her. Just about getting stress relief. There was nothing real there. 

But there was, there was, there was. 

Devi’s hand shakes as she picks up the necklace. She wants to throw it away, but she can’t, and she thinks if she looks at it for one more second, then she’ll throw up. 

So she stuffs it in her backpack, squares her shoulders, and walks out of the classroom. She is strong, and Ben Gross will _not_ be the person to break her. 

She didn’t let what happened in sophomore year break her. She’s certainly not going to let it happen now. 

* * *

The thing is, it gets harder and harder as the days go on, which is the exact _opposite_ of what she wants. 

Devi feels her throat clench up whenever she has to look at him, and she can barely breathe. Her vinyls have been stuffed into the back of her room, covered behind books and other items she has, she hasn’t looked at the necklace in three days, and she’s not—she’s _not_ going to let this tear into her any more. 

But god, every part of her misses him, and she has never hated herself for anything more. It hurts, hurts her so much she wonders when it will stop. 

She wakes up from nightmares—well, they’re not nightmares, but they always make her heart hurt, so she thinks she can classify them as such—of his lips pressing against her neck and his hand lacing in hers and his smile gracing her vision. She wakes up feeling like someone has wrapped their hand around her heart and squeezed, tight. 

She has been so good at protecting her heart, good at shoving her emotions down and not letting herself think about Malibu or sophomore year or four days later and now she has failed. 

And she hates herself the most for this, but god, she wants him still. Wants his mouth on her neck and his hands pressing into her hips. Wants his lips kissing the breath from her lungs and his laughter echoing in her ears. 

The worst is what happens in AP Biology on Friday. They’ve been given a study hall period, but there’s nothing she needs to get done, so she’s just sitting on the edge of her seat at the edge of the table, as far away from Ben as physically possible. 

(but ben is a magnetic field, stronger than the one the earth holds, drawing her in effortlessly, and every fight she makes is futile. she had quit cold turkey, hadn’t let herself think about what happened at malibu for two years. she _hadn’t,_ and it had been good for her at the time. or so she had thought. but the tempered glass around her heart has been broken, shattered irreparably, and yet she is still trying to pick up the pieces and put them back together) 

She forces herself to keep her eyes off of him for as long as she can, ignoring him for the majority of the class, and she can feel the weight of his eyes on her from time to time. 

It _incenses_ her. How _dare_ he? How dare he look at her, the fucker? She’s going to rip out his throat with her bare hands. 

Rip out his heart, too. Maybe then he’ll understand what it feels like. 

The fifth time, Devi’s fraught temper snaps, and she slams her hand down on the table, turning to him. “What the fuck do you _want?”_ she hisses. 

Ben’s eyes lift from the table and lock with hers. “Devi, I’m—” 

“If you’re about to say you’re fucking sorry,” she hisses, jabbing him painfully in the knee with her pointer finger, “than you can go to hell. Shove it up your ass, for all I care,” she snaps. 

Ben blinks at her, eyes swimming with hurt and confusion, and she fucking hates how much he is her weakness. She has a soft spot for his eyes, and right now that soft spot is sore, bruised, and hurting, and the protective urge to curl in on herself as if that will protect her any more from him is so overwhelming she can taste it in the back of her throat.

“Stop that,” she chokes out. “Stop looking at me like that.” 

Ben blinks. “I’m—” he cuts himself off. “Right. Yeah, ok,” he says, clearing his throat. His gaze drops down to the table again. “Sorry,” he murmurs, and then flinches. “I just—I needed to say it.” 

She scowls. “You don’t get to be sorry.” 

Ben runs a hand through his hair. “Devi,” he whispers, quiet so that no one can hear them, “I don’t know why you’re acting like this.” 

She barely bites back a laugh. “What the fuck? Like what?” 

“So—so hurt,” he stammers out. 

“I’m not hurt, Gross,” she snaps. 

(the string pulls even tighter) 

“Then why are you acting like this?” he murmurs. “Devi, I just—I thought this was what you wanted as well. I thought that we needed to end things now to keep things clean. So that things would be like. I don’t know, easy? When we went to Princeton.” 

“When have things ever been easy between us, Ben?” she bites out. 

By the way his jaw clenches, hand clutching his pencil tighter, she knows he knows what she is talking about. She laughs internally, slightly manic. She cannot believe it’s like this. 

“Just when we hooked up,” he answers. “Just then.” 

Devi swallows and looks at him. Lets herself think about his teeth scoring down the length of her neck and his fingers brushing over the inside of her ankle. Doesn’t let herself think about his hand in hers and the way his smile felt pressed against her hip. 

“You know,” she says, choosing her words extremely carefully, with caution. 

She is stepping into a minefield. 

“We never got one last time.” 

Ben jolts in shock, pencil slipping from his grasp in shock. She can see his paper, see he has written random quotes from Shakespeare—the pretentious dick has a habit of doing so when he’s bored—on the paper. “One last time?” he repeats. 

Devi bites the inside of her cheek. “When we—you—ended things,” she starts, the dark, wounded part of herself relishing in the way he winces viscerally, “we never agreed on one last time. If—if we do that, it’ll be closure. And we can finish things easy, move on.” 

“So you want—closure,” he repeats, faint. 

She nods jerkily, like the bobblehead dolls her mother has from India. She wishes she could paint a mask over her face in the same way they do theirs. 

“Closure,” she repeats. “And then we can go back to—not talking to each other and avoiding each other. Like we used to before.” 

She needs to push him away. It’s always been what she’s done. It’s been her instinct. It’s what she had done for two years, and she let herself forget it this year, which is why she’s struggling now. 

(but here is the thing: devi has walls that she keeps up and maintains. she has put them up to protect herself, to keep herself safe, but taking it to the extreme has made it dangerous. it is like the immune system inducing an inflammatory response, helpful at first, but catastrophic when taken to extremes. and this thing with ben, pushing him away, keeping him so cut off from her is catastrophic) 

“Before.” 

“Yeah. Before.” 

“Back to normal.” 

She looks back down at her paper, doodles littering the page. “Back to normal.” 

Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Ben nod. “Ok, then,” he agrees. “One last time.” 

Devi closes her eyes, breathes out. She imagines the pain and heartache leaving her body, like a black cloud. 

Bullshit. 

It’s still in her gut, but she shoves it aside. “After school?” 

“Yeah.” Ben flicks his pen over his hands, and where the motion before would have brought her comfort, now it just makes bile rise up in the back of her throat. “I’ll drive.” 

“We’ll make it quick.” Devi snaps her notebook full of doodles closed. “I’ll meet you in the lobby.” 

She turns away from him, not waiting to see what he has to say in response, and closes her eyes. 

(the string pulls ever tighter)

* * *

She doesn’t let him talk. 

The second she follows him into the house, Devi wraps her hand around his neck and pulls him to her, mouth sucking at his jaw. 

“Devi,” he says, scrabbling at her. 

“No kissing,” she says. “And no talking. Fuck me, so we can get closure.” 

Ben’s eyes flash, and then his fingers are digging into her hips painfully tight. “Fine,” he rumbles. 

“If you want me to fuck you, then that’s what I’ll do.” 

Ben pulls her up to his room and pushes her down on the bed, just like prom, except it’s nothing like prom and she aches for prom. Aches for the way he used to touch her, gentle and delicate and careful. 

His hands score down her side, curving under her back, and she moans when she feels his fingers slip into her, sudden and shocking but so good. 

He gets her off quickly, her orgasm crashing over her and sweeping her away, ravaging her, like the sea, but suddenly she needs more. This is their last time, and she should go now, now that she’s gotten what she wants, but it’s still not enough. 

Devi leans forward and presses her lips to the curve of his jaw. “More,” she gasps. “I want more.” 

Ben strips her of her clothing quickly, easily, and she remembers how he had savored undressing her during prom, and she wants that back. 

(but she asked for this, a quick fuck with nothing else between them) 

He reaches up, tugging his shirt off, and she smoothes her hands over his shoulders, suddenly unable to stop touching him. She’s going to remember this. 

Emotion wells up and sits securely in her throat, but she closes her eyes and focuses on the way his mouth is pressing kisses down her arm, all the way to the tips of her fingers, before he turns her hand around and ghosts his mouth against her knuckles. 

She wants to tell him to stop, so badly, because this is too much and she thinks she might start crying, but the words refuse to spill from her mouth. She can’t stop him. 

Ben presses a belt of kisses around her navel, thumb brushing over her hip, and she digs her hands into his shoulders, tight, painfully so. 

“Come on, Ben,” she mutters. She tugs him up by his shoulders, hands smoothing across his back. “Fuck me.” 

Ben nods, jaw clenching tight. “Ok.” 

He reaches over, pulls a condom out, and it’s quick, easy. Like it always has been. They’ve done this so many times before she knows exactly how to move her body to fit with his, pushing his pants down, rolling the condom on. It’s so predictable it’s almost clinical. 

She slings her leg over his hip and bites into his neck and he pushes into her, and she rolls over, shoving him onto his back. “Fuck,” she groans. 

Ben’s fingers dig into her back and he presses kisses all around her throat, stealing the air right out of her lungs. 

(the string pulls impossibly taut) 

Ben snaps his hips up into hers, and she gasps, nails raking across his back. She’s sensitive from her previous orgasm, already so close. He drags his mouth across her neck, sucking at it hard enough to leave a mark, teeth scraping over the sensitive skin. 

He litters them across her neck and shoulders, steadily rocking into her, and with every mark he leaves she feels the air leave her lungs. 

“Come on, Devi,” he mutters. “Come for me.” 

She buries her face in his neck, biting down on the muscle. _No,_ her heart begs. _No, no, no, please, no._

For the first time since she started sleeping with Ben, she doesn’t want to come, she doesn’t want him to push her over the edge and catch her, she doesn’t want him to set her free.

Because if he does any of those things that would mean that this is over and her heart aches at the thought of it. 

(isn’t it already over?)

Ben nudges her cheek with his nose and she pulls her face from his neck, looking at him. His eyes are deeper than the ocean, holding far more than she ever thought possible and she can’t fucking breathe.

He strokes a hand down her face and it only makes her heart break even more. 

“Come for me.” 

She grips his biceps and shakes her head, choking back the words she cannot say. _No, no, no._

(i want to stay here with you, forever. i want to be with you forever. i want to breathe you in every day because now the air i take in without you feels stale and brittle, like it’s destroying my lungs. please don’t ask me to come. please don’t make me leave)

Ben leans forward and presses his forehead to hers. “I’m here, Devi.” 

The only though she has before she falls apart in his arms is, _not for long._

* * *

It is the second to last day of school, a week and a half after she last slept with Ben, and things have gotten easier. 

Well, not easier. But she’s compartmentalized it. A bit. She’s ok. She will be ok. 

Devi just kind of can’t wait for this whole year to end. 

She’s valedictorian, but honestly, without being able to rub it in Ben’s face, the victory feels strangely hollow. 

(is it a victory at all, without him?)

They’re going to have to give the speeches together, and Devi has been working on her valedictory address since she was in seventh grade, but she hasn’t been able to look at it since she found out the news. But she closes her eyes and pushes herself up from her bed, showers and dresses and holds onto her emotions as best as she can. 

Devi plops down on her chair, sitting in front of her vanity. She looks like a mess, like a complete and utter mess, but she decidedly ignores that as she brushes her hair. Slipping simple studs on, she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and reaches for her makeup, as routine. 

The concealer is in her hand, and she’s about to put it on her neck when she stops cold. 

She doesn’t need it. 

It’s the first time in _months_ she hasn’t, the skin of her neck and collarbone smooth and free from dark spots. In the week they’ve been “broken up,” all the marks on her skin have faded, and she doesn’t need to check to see if the ones littered on the rest of her body are gone as well. She knows they are. 

Devi chokes down the lump that rises up in her throat and caps the concealer, shoving it in the dresser drawer, but stops cold when she sees something else. 

Next to her used concealer is the one Ben got her, in the perfect shade, of course, far more expensive than the one she uses, completely unopened. She didn’t know why she couldn’t open it, or use it, only that she never wanted to, wanted to keep what he had given her. 

Her hand shakes as she reaches for it, turning it over in her palm. If she closes her eyes hard enough, she can almost _smell_ him, feel the warmth of his hand, as if it pulsates from the bottle. 

(the string pulls ever the more taut)

Who does he think he is? Who the fuck does he think he is, giving her concealer and then breaking things off, pretending they were friends and then just—using her?

(she knows that’s not true but her heart is in tatters, shredded, and she can’t find any other reason to justify it and—)

He can’t just play with her heart, make her feel things she’s never felt before and then drop her like she’s nothing, leave her behind to pick up the pieces of their shattered—whatever they were. 

Devi curls her hand around the glass bottle, gripping it so tight her knuckles pulse. She breathes in raggedly, trying to forget the exact color of Ben’s eyes and the crooked way his mouth would tilt up when he smiled, the callous on his right thumb that felt perfect when he rubbed it against her hip and the exact way his laugh would waver in the air. 

She can’t, she can’t, she can’t. 

(the string snaps) 

She breaks then, launching herself off of her vanity and tearing out of the house, stomping out of the door while her mother gapes at her in shock. 

Devi flies past her to the sidewalk outside of her house, and in a fit of rage and anger (and heartbreak and pain) hurls the bottle onto the sidewalk. 

It shatters into a million little pieces, glass shards mixing with the thick, matte brown liquid. 

The second she realizes what she’s done she wants to throw up, the nausea overwhelming her. 

“Oh, no,” she whimpers, crouching down and carefully reaching a hand out towards the mess. “No, no, no.” She broke this, something that he had—had given her and she doesn’t—

There’s nothing to do. She can’t take it back. She can’t fix a broken bottle. 

(she can’t fix her broken heart) 

Devi buries her face in her hands and, for the first time since this all happened, finally lets herself cry. 

* * *

Because unlike her friends, Eleanor is not a complete and total idiot, she notices something is wrong on Tuesday. 

And by the second to last day of school, she’s had enough of them acting like fucking zombies trying to ignore it. 

She hasn’t seen Devi so upset since—since her father died. And that was a different kind of sadness, overwhelming and quiet and grief. Eleanor doesn’t know that sadness, not really, but she knows when it rises up in Devi again. 

So that’s exactly how Eleanor knows this is different. This is the sadness and anger of a broken heart. This is something Devi does not know how to handle. 

For a solid week she plots out how she’s going to kill Ben for breaking her best friend’s heart. She’s literally going to kill him, for doing this to Devi after everything she’s been through. 

And she loves Ben, she does, but she knows Devi, has known her since she was five years old, and there will never be anything that will be able to come between that. And Eleanor will not let—let him come and hurt her like that.

So she finds Ben after school. 

Eleanor resists the urge to murder him with like, a butter knife or something, not because she couldn’t get away with it—because she most certainly could, don’t get her wrong—but because Devi doesn’t have the market cornered on reckless and impulsive things and she’s about 36% sure she would regret it. Not high enough to totally sway herself from doing it should he piss her off, but also not low enough that she’s compelled to kill him on sight. 

She climbs into his car without any preamble, catching him before he leaves the parking lot, and instead of being surprised to see her, Ben just turns towards her and runs his hand over his face. 

“Hi, El,” he breathes. 

She opens her mouth to tear into him, to fly into a furious, massive rage about what he did to Devi, to rip into him and verbally eviscerate him and maybe punch him a bit (what? just because she’s tiny doesn’t mean that she’s not strong) for breaking her best friend’s heart, to make him regret ever hurting her and considering toying with one of the best people Eleanor knows. 

But then she catches the look on Ben’s eyes and all of the fight drains out of her. 

(because eleanor has seen that same look a thousand times over in a thousand different ways, every time she looks in the mirror. it is the look you give when the world is weighing on your shoulders and you are trying to keep it hidden. because she also sees the look inside of his eyes in devi’s) 

She shuts her mouth as Ben gives her a wry smile. “Come to yell at me?” he murmurs, rubbing his eyes. “I deserve it.” 

Eleanor tilts her head. “O—oh. I—” 

“I know you know, Eleanor,” Ben says, lips quirking up into a smile, tired and performative. He ducks his head and rubs at his temples. “You’re not good at hiding it.” 

Against her better judgement, Eleanor snorts out a laugh, lips pursing together in a smile. “This is coming from you?” 

“I don’t know,” he says, continuing to rub at his temples. He looks more haggard than Eleanor has ever seen him, just the faintest shadows of stubble scoring his jaw, his hair unkempt, and his shirt, for the first time, is wrinkled. “No one but you knows.” 

She shakes her head. “No one else but me really cares, Benjamin. High school kids don’t care about anyone but their friends, and Fabiola regularly forgets that straight people exist. She still knows, though. Just—not all the details.” 

“And do you?” he murmurs. “Do you know all of the details?” 

She freezes, frowning at him. “I know you guys started sleeping together after homecoming. And I know that you’re in love with her.” 

Ben huffs out a wry laugh, shaking his head. To her shock, he doesn’t deny it, just leans back in his seat. 

“Yeah.” He stops and breathes in, sighing. “So why aren’t you mad at me?” 

“I am,” Eleanor says, nodding. “Honestly, I’m pretty fucking pissed at you. You hurt my friend and there’s no coming back from that.” 

He nods, and she can already tell he’s pulling back from her, putting up his walls to keep him safe, to protect himself from her. 

(and part of her heart breaks, because who taught ben that loving someone was worthy of protection?) 

“I get it,” he sighs. “I’d be—I am—pretty pissed at myself too.” 

“But Ben.” Eleanor places a hand on his arm, giving it a squeeze. “Ben, you’re my friend too. And I can tell when a friend of mine is hurting. I just want to help you.” 

He chokes out a wet laugh. “How?” 

“God, Ben, you can _talk_ to me, you know that, right? I promise I won’t judge.” 

He picks at his fingernails, ignoring her directly. “I know you won’t. I just—I don’t know how to talk about this.” 

“About—Malibu?” 

Ben startles. “How do you know about that?” 

Eleanor rolls her eyes. “How subtle do you think you two _are?_ Look, I know you guys kissed. What I don’t get is why you avoided each other for two whole years after that.” 

“Because, El,” he says, tiredly, as if he is revealing something he has told her a thousand times before—except he has never said this once before, “she—she didn’t want me. She didn’t love me.” 

“Did you love her?” 

“Sometimes,” he says, pausing, as though he is carefully considering his words, crafting them to make them as devastating as possible, “I think I’ve loved her forever. I don’t think I ever really got over her.” 

Eleanor gapes at him. “Well, what the fuck, then!” She smacks Ben in the arm, and he winces, running his hand over the afflicted spot. 

“Ow! Jesus Christ, El.” 

“You just said you think you’ve been in love with Devi forever, and you’re sitting here moping in your car like—like some reject Eeyore instead of working up the courage to tell her?” She smacks him again, this time with her purse. “What, did someone surgically remove your balls from your body? God!” 

“Don’t sugar coat it, Eleanor, please.” 

She crosses her arms, frowning. “Ben. Come on. If you’re in love with Devi, why did you end things with her? Why haven’t you told her how you feel?” 

“Because,” Ben says, fingers drumming on his steering wheel. “She’s not in love with me, and I’m not setting my heart up to be broken again.” 

Eleanor thinks her brain might explode from the sheer stupidity she’s hearing right now. 

“Not—not in _love_ with you?” she splutters, eyes wide and in shock. “You think Devi isn’t in love with you?” 

Ben raises a finger. “No, I don’t think, I know.” 

_Jesus fucking Christ._

She starts smacking him again, hoping to beat some sense into him. “Not in love with you?” she practically screeches. “God, Ben, Devi is so head over heels in love with you her she literally turns into a goddamn fucking cartoon character when you’re around. You know, the blushing cheeks and the hearts in the pupils and the birds singing around the head?” 

“This isn’t _Enchanted,_ you know.” 

“What a shame,” she sighs, dramatically flipping her hair over her shoulder. “Life would be so much better if it was.” 

Ben laughs then, the first genuine laugh she’s heard from him in weeks. “That is true.” 

Eleanor pinches the bridge of her nose. “Ben, how could you think she’s not in love with you?” 

“Because of sophomore year,” he murmurs. “Because she turned me down then and—I just don’t see how she could ever fall for me if she didn’t love me then. I mean, Eleanor, Malibu was—it was _everything.”_

Eleanor laces her fingers together and crosses one leg over the other. “Everything?” she repeats, quiet. 

“I loved her, El.” Ben casts his eyes down to the dash, fiddling with it, and the nervous energy radiating off of him in waves is palpable. 

(it reminds her of the doppler effect, how the perceived frequency of a noise changes as it approaches something and then leaves it. she can practical feel the tension in ben’s body rocket up as she gets closer and closer to what is at the heart of the problem here) 

“I loved her, and she didn’t choose me. And it’s not like—like I expected to, but Malibu did something stupid to me.” 

“What?”

“It gave me hope.” 

She thinks the rest of her heart breaks in her chest, for the both of them. “Ben,” she sighs. “Ben, it’s ok to have hope.” 

“You don’t know what it was like to walk into school for half a year and see her with someone else, Eleanor,” he murmurs, quietly. “It felt like someone was scooping my heart out of my chest with a rusty spoon and rubbing salt in the wound left behind. It hurt more than anything I’ve ever known.” 

Eleanor bites her lip. “Did it hurt more than now?”

Ben finches. “I’ve never forgotten how much it hurt. I’m not putting myself through that again.” 

(once burned, twice shy. except ben has taken this to the extreme, has taken it to the point where he has allowed his heart to be turned into ashes, but without going after her, and eleanor can’t stand here on the side and watch her friends hurt without trying to do something about it) 

“Ben—” 

He cuts her off by holding up a hand. “I remember what it was like to get—get my hopes up that she liked me back, Eleanor,” Ben murmurs. “I remember what happened after. It’s just not really like. Something I want to revisit. Or put myself through ever again.” 

‘What happened after?” 

“Not even I really know the answer to that,” he sighs. “You’ll—you’ll have to ask Devi.” 

“I’m asking you,” she pushes, placing a hand on his arm. 

“I’m telling you, Eleanor, I don’t know.” Ben smiles sadly at her. “You can chalk it up to the ever-growing list of things that I have no idea about.” 

“But you know you’re in love with her.” 

He nods. “I am.” 

Eleanor studies him, her eyes sweeping over him carefully. “So then why did you end things?” 

“Because I couldn’t—” he chokes on his words here, and she’s confronted with the horrible realization he is choking back tears and Eleanor has never felt her heart bleed so viscerally for another person before, “—I couldn’t sleep with her and love her and not tell her. It hurt too much.” 

“Oh.” 

Ben’s blue eyes seem impossibly sad when they flicker up to meet hers, and Eleanor has never seen so much sorrow in the depths of another person’s eyes before. It punches the air out of her lungs and she wants to help him so bad it hurts. 

(and this is weakness like eleanor has never felt before, weakness that permeates her whole being and makes her frustrated, angry, and hurt. she wants to lash out and _do something,_ wants to patch up their hearts with silver thread and fabric squares, wants to fix things. eleanor is an actor, a performer. she considers herself an expert in all things romance, which makes her an expert in broken hearts. but she has never felt as helpless as she does now. she can’t fix this, she knows, but she still has to try) 

“I had to, Eleanor.” 

“You can’t make that decision for her.” 

Ben’s hands tighten around the steering wheel, knuckles pulsing dangerously white, even against his pale skin. “She would have made the decision eventually on her own anyways.” 

Eleanor knits her brows together, shifting so she’s facing him in the passenger seat, curling her legs up underneath her. “What are you talking about?” 

“She was going to leave, Eleanor.” Ben closes his eyes, breathes in a careful, measured breath. “This was never meant to be forever. It was always meant to end.” 

“So you just—did that?”

“I gave her an out.” Ben won’t look her in the eyes. He will not look her in the eyes. “So she could leave.” 

“But why did you want her to leave?” 

“I didn’t want her too, El.” His hands shake on the steering wheel. “But everyone leaves me, eventually. My parents have never stuck around.” 

Eleanor feels her heart twist in her chest, doing a pirouette—except there is no beauty in this spin, just a hell of a lot of pain. “So you left her first?” 

“Easier than watching her walk away.” 

Eleanor sets her jaw, and then smacks him over the head with her purse in quick succession three times. “Ow! Ow! Eleanor, Jesus, what the fuck?” Ben cries, batting her away. 

“You don’t get to make that fucking decision for her!” Eleanor screeches, throwing her hands up in the air. “You don’t get to decide whether or not Devi is going to leave you and end things before they ever get started!” 

“But I don’t _know!”_ he yells back. 

Her blood is pumping hot through her veins, but there is a shock of cold—like the Arctic Sea, she imagines it is blue, the same color as Ben’s eyes—that shoots up her spine, settling in the base of her neck and permeating every single inch of her back. Ben has never yelled at her before, and she can see the regret come over him as the blood drains from his face, leaving him even paler, like a ghost. 

“I’m sorry, Eleanor,” he breathes. “God, I’m sorry.” 

She shakes her head. “Please don’t—don’t apologize, Ben.” 

Ben closes his eyes, and she can see a tear trail down his face. “I knew this was coming,” he manages, “so why does it still hurt so much?” 

Eleanor reaches over then, pulling him into a hug. She hugs him tightly. “I get it, Ben. I do.”

(and she does. because when you have been left behind as much as she and ben have been, when you have been left behind by your parents, it breaks something in you that cannot be fixed. it breaks something in you that will never be whole again, and there will always be a little voice in your ear asking who else will leave) 

Ben buries his face into her shoulder and lets out a shuddering breath, and she pulls away to look him in the eyes. “Ben, you can’t be scared to love someone because you think they’ll leave.” 

“That’s easier said than done,” he laughs, wry. 

“Don’t I know it?”

“I know you do.” 

Eleanor reaches for his hand and grips it tight. “Ben, you have such a good heart. And I know it’s hard, I know it is, but don’t you think it’s worth trying? Doesn’t Devi deserve that?” 

He looks away from her, jaw tightening as he clenches it. “I don’t know what to do, El. I never meant to hurt her.” 

“Devi’s hurting because she misses you,” Eleanor murmurs. 

“She’s my friend. I don’t know how to fix this.” 

“Maybe—maybe you could tell her about your feelings?” Eleanor knows as soon as she says this, Ben will not listen to her, he will not do this, but she needs to present the option anyways, makes sure he knows it’s there. 

“I risk losing her, then, Eleanor. I won’t do that.” 

Eleanor smiles at him, a touch sad. “Haven’t you already?” 

* * *

Fabiola knocks on Devi’s door three hours after Eleanor talks to Ben, determined to talk some sense into her best friend. 

Devi opens the door, and stops it halfway as soon as she sees Fabiola. “Fab? What are you doing here?” 

Unlike the rest of them, Fabiola has absolutely no time for their bullshit, so she steps into the house, toeing off her shoes, and crosses her arms. “What’s going on between you and Ben?” she asks.

Devi lets out a slightly strangled laugh, a touch manic—and god, they’re _horrible_ at hiding this, Fabiola would feel worse about not noticing sooner, but seriously, she underestimated how dumb they are—and crosses her arms. “What do you mean?” 

Fabiola rolls her eyes. “Cut the crap, Devi.” She reaches over and pushes the door closed. “I know.” 

“Uh, know what?” 

“First of all,” Fabiola points out, “you’re kind of horrible at hiding things, I just don’t really care all that much. Second of all, I’m talking about you and Ben doing it.” 

Devi flushes bright red. “God,” she groans. “Did Eleanor tell you?” 

Fabiola smiles sheepishly then. “Yeah. She did.” 

Devi walks over and flops on the couch, sitting down with her chin tucked squarely into the palm of her hand. “There’s nothing wrong between me and Ben.” 

“I suck at figuring out lies,” Fabiola sighs, sitting across from Devi in the chair, “but even I can tell that’s a lie. You’ve been looking like you want to kill him more than usual.” 

“Good,” Devi quips. “I always want to kill him. Glad that’s getting across more.” 

“Don’t deflect, Devi,” Fabiola says, quietly. 

(eleanor studies people, but fabiola listens to them, listens to their dreams and troubles, and that’s how she knows her friend is avoiding talking about this, talking about something that could seriously hurt her) 

‘I’m not deflecting, Fab!” Devi protests. 

Fabiola leans forward and hesitantly takes Devi’s hand in her own. Eleanor is usually the one who is better at this, who is good at soothing wounds and offering comforting words, who can appeal to someone’s heart in a way Fabiola cannot. 

Sometimes she thinks she is too much head, too little heart, but she reminds herself that no one is simply one thing, and so, she must try to be enough of both instead. 

This is so far out of her comfort zone it’s not even a little funny, but her friend is hurting, and so she has to try. Devi has made mistakes, of course she has, but Fabiola loves her all the same. There is a reason she came out to her friends before she ever told her parents. Her friends know parts of her that no one else knows. 

Which is why she knows she has to try and help Devi. She will. 

“You are, Devi. You can trust me, you know?” 

Devi sighs, tightening her grip on Fabiola’s hand. “I know.” 

“Come on, Devi,” Fabiola murmurs. “What’s wrong?”

Devi clears her throat, looking down at her lap, her hand shaking in Fabiola’s. “Ben ended things between us.” 

Fabiola nods. “Yeah. Go on.” 

“It’s not a big deal,” Devi mutters. “We’re just not hooking up anymore. Not a big deal.” 

She narrows her eyes. “Come _on,_ Devi. I’m really trying here, you know.” She sighs in frustration. “I—I get it if you want to talk to Eleanor or Kamala or someone who’s better at this than I am, but I’m just trying to help. You could give me a little something here!” 

“I know you’re trying, Fabiola!” Devi snaps, before closing her eyes, taking a deep breath to calm herself. “I know you’re trying and I really, really appreciate that, I just—I don’t even know where to start.” 

“Logic dictates that you should start at the beginning, Devi.” Fabiola shifts, coming up off her seat to sit next to Devi on the couch. She clutches her friend’s hand a bit tighter. “Start at Malibu.” 

Devi takes in a deep breath, shuddering and shaky, like the metal rafters in a tornado, and Fabiola imagines there is a tornado in Devi’s lungs. 

“I don’t—I kissed him,” she admits, small and quiet, almost like a child. “I kissed him.” 

“Right.” 

“I kissed him, and now I think I have—have feelings for him, but it’s not fair of me to have feelings for him and—” 

“Ok, Devi, Devi,” Fabiola soothes. “Calm down. You kissed Ben at Malibu.” 

Devi swallows roughly. “I—” she pulls her hand out from Fabiola’s and twists her hands around one another, a nervous tick, “—I kissed him. I let him kiss me. It was—it was nice.” 

“Nice.” 

“Nice,” Devi repeats, suddenly. “I—didn’t hate it. At all.” 

“And?” Fabiola prompts. Getting Devi to admit anything remotely emotional is harder than pulling teeth, but she knows it requires patience. “Come on, Devi. There’s got to be something more.” 

“I liked it,” she murmurs. “I really liked kissing him. It was a little awkward but I—liked it.” 

“What’s so wrong with that?” 

Devi closes her eyes. “I never—I never told you guys that Paxton called me while I was at Malibu, did I?” 

“I will admit, it was weird you had all of that stuff happen with Ben only to show up a week later dating Paxton,” Fabiola confesses. “I really thought I had the signals mixed up there, or something.” 

Devi shakes her head, laughing wryly. “No, Fab. You didn’t.” 

She traces the lines on the palm of her hand slowly, over and over again, the motion hypnotic and soothing to Fabiola’s eyes. “You didn’t have any of the signals mixed up. I had feelings for Ben back then—real, deep feelings.” 

(fabiola wonders if this is the first time she has ever admitted this to someone else. there is a weight on devi’s chest that seems to stay there no matter what she does, and fabiola wishes she might be able to carry it, if for just a second, to give her a moment to breathe) 

“So why didn’t you do anything about them?” 

“I—did.” 

Fabiola’s mouth drops open. “What?” 

Devi closes her eyes. “There’s only two people in the world who know what I’m about to tell you, Fab. Just me, and Ben.” 

“What happened?” Fabiola leans forward, and she feels a flash of guilt permeate her body at the notion she is overly invested in this story for the gossip, but in order to help Devi, she needs to understand what—what happened between them.

Devi opens her eyes, locking hers with Fabiola’s. “It was four days after,” she starts, “and I went to get my stuff from his house. And—he wasn’t there when I walked in but. When I walked out he was there.” 

“There?” 

“In his living room. And he was just—looking at me?” 

“Sounds creepy.” 

Devi laughs a wet, short laugh, a little more of a sob. “It was the opposite of creepy. He looked at me and I just—I’ve never had anyone look at me like that before. Like I was—everything.” 

Fabiola feels a sick feeling coil up in her stomach, rising up with every passing moment. “Everything.” 

“And I—I don’t know, I just walked up to him and I kissed him.” 

“You kissed him?” 

“I did,” she admits, wrapping her arms around herself. “I wanted to, so badly, so I did. I kissed him and he kissed me back. But I was scared. And so I pulled away and I told—told him that we couldn’t do this. That we wouldn’t work. And I ran. All the way back home, and I called Paxton back and I let him take me out and kiss me.” 

“Yeah,” Fabiola says, wincing. She can’t exactly say anything in response to that. Definitely not one of Devi’s best decisions ever. 

“Remember how I said he looked at me like I was everything?” she whispers.

Fabiola nods. 

“That wasn’t the only time,” Devi confesses. “He looked at me like that right after I kissed him at Malibu too. Like—like he had _everything,_ because he had me. And all I wanted to do was kiss him.” 

“That...sounds like a lot.” 

“It was.” Devi pauses, picking at her fingernails. “And it was too much,” she whispers. “You know? I mean, it was _Ben.”_

(she can hear what devi is saying in her voice, that it was _ben,_ the boy who has teased her and competed with her and been her enemy for ten years, and suddenly he was nothing like that. fabiola knows her best friend, and so she knows all devi has ever wanted is for someone to look at her like she was the sun, the moon, the stars, to stare at her with as much reverence as the ancient poets stared at the constellations. like the whole world paled in comparison to her, and if fabiola knows anything about ben, it is that he looked at devi like that) 

“He’s always been there, even when I didn’t want him to be.” Devi huffs out a wry laugh. “It’s like—the riptide, you know? It sucks you in, drowns you. That was what he was like. I was—wrong, to turn him down. I was wrong to kiss him and then pull away from him. I thought I knew what I wanted, when I listened to Paxton’s voicemail. I’ve _always_ wanted Paxton. Or—I thought I did. I was wrong.” 

“You dated Paxton for two years,” Fabiola confirmed. 

‘Two years where—where I practically _used_ Paxton to forget about Ben. Fuck, Fab, I’m such a _horrible_ person.” 

“You’re not a bad person, Devi. You just—needed something easy.” 

Devi whispers, “I was so horrible to Ben.” 

“Oh, Devi,” Fabiola sighs, as Devi buries her face in her hands, shaking with silent tears. 

“I had feelings for him and I just threw him away. Like he wasn’t worthy of me.” Devi sniffs, but she doesn’t cry. Her shoulders shake, and yet she doesn’t cry. It is hard to cry when you are holding yourself together with a taut string, when you are keeping every emotion stacked up and inside of you. 

(repression is a learned skill, and fabiola thinks no one does this quite as well as devi) 

“I was wrong,” Devi whispers. “I don’t deserve him.” 

Fabiola wraps her arm around Devi’s shoulders and pulls him in. “You are, Devi,” she reassures quietly. “You do deserve him.” 

“I don’t. I just, I ignored him for all of sophomore and junior year and I knew how he felt about me. I knew he liked me and had feelings for me. I knew how he felt about me. I don’t—I treated him horribly, Fab.” 

“You were confused, Devi.” 

Devi laughs bitterly. “I wasn’t confused, Fabiola. I was scared.” 

Fabiola furrows her eyebrows. “What are you talking about, Devi? Scared of what?” 

“Scared of Ben. Of what he made me feel.” 

Fabiola tugs Devi in closer. “Why?” 

“Because—because Ben wouldn’t leave.” Devi pinches her nose, breathing heavily, trying hard not to let her tears fall. “Ben would never leave, unless I pushed him away. And that’s _scary,_ Fab. He wouldn’t leave and he could—he could hurt me. I had to make him leave first.” 

“Ben is your friend.” 

Devi shakes her head. “No,” she murmurs. “He was—something more and something less and—it was so much, Fab. Just too much change to take in. Ben was there for me, you know. The week I stayed at his place. Driving me to Malibu. He was there and I worked hard, really fucking hard, to forget that.” 

“I wanted to forget how he made me feel,” she whispers. “Because it terrified me.” 

Fabiola is silent, listens to every word Devi has to say. “Paxton couldn’t hurt me in the same way Ben could. Paxton couldn’t destroy me.” 

“Nobody can destroy you, Devi,” Fabiola says firmly. “Nobody.” 

Devi cracks an unexpected smile at that. “You have a lot of faith in me.” 

“I love you,” Fabiola says simply. “Which is how I know you’re going to be ok.” 

Devi gives her a shaky smile. “Thank you for listening.” 

Fabiola grips her a bit tighter, smiling. “That’s what friends are for, Devi.” 

(and it is. it is what fabiola is here for, to hold her friends and talk them through her problems. she does not know if being here has helped devi much at all, but she does not think it has hurt her, and so that is good enough for her)

Devi rests her head on Fabiola’s shoulder, and Fabiola breathes out. Devi deserves a break, so Fabiola will give her one. 

And she will sit with her for as long as necessary.

* * *

Ben isn’t exactly sure how he makes it through the next two weeks, but he does. 

It’s a feat of Herculean proportions. 

He wakes up on the day after he ends things with Devi, and seriously considers not going to school. 

Doesn’t think he can face her, can see her, and god, this is the real depth of his heartbreak, isn’t it, because suddenly he doesn’t care at all about being valedictorian and beating her, he just cares about her. 

He loves her, and he’s lost her. 

Ben rolls over and thinks about suffocating himself with his pillow. It would be a less painful way to die. 

And there’s no one to blame but him, because he fell in love with a girl who doesn’t love him back. 

(he’d always thought love was beautiful, something to cherish and adore and keep close to you, but now part of him wishes he’d never felt it because god, this hurts, it hurts, it hurts. 

that’s not true. he’ll never regret falling in love with her, will never regret loving her because loving her is the best part of his life, the purest thing there is and he couldn’t have helped falling for her if he tried. 

that doesn’t mean it doesn’t pulse within his chest in time with his heartbeat. logically he knows he can’t be dead, because he can still see and hear and feel, but in every sense of the word he might as well be, for all that he cares)

Ben’s a coward, a coward who ran away from the girl he loves because he knows, in the depths of his heart, that she deserves better than him. 

She deserves everything in the world, someone better than him, strong and confident and sure, a better man than he, and he was too selfish to realize that until now. 

There’s a lot of selfishness in love, he realizes. A lot of selfishness in wanting someone to love you and only you back. He’s always been a bit too selfish when it comes to her. Ben’s loved her for what feels like forever, and he’s been selfish for just as long. 

Love is not pure and good and beautiful, it’s messy. It’s the sharp edge of a knife you can’t help but run your finger along. There’s a reason people test how hot the iron is by touching it. 

He’ll never have her, not really, All he has is memories and a broken heart to sustain him. 

For once, it’ll have to be enough.

Ben breathes out, staring at the ceiling of his room. His lungs feel like forest fire damage, ashes and smoke scars and burns, littering the inside of his body. Every time he breathes it hurts. 

(he closes his eyes and all he can see is the look on devi’s face when he told her he wanted a clean break, and it has never hurt so much before. he has never hurt someone else like this before, either, and that makes him more sick than he wants to think about) 

And seeing her tear off the necklace in AP Euro feels like a knife sliding into his gut, perfectly in between his ribcage, being twisted ninety degrees. It hurts more than he can bear. 

Of course, later that day he is home with the taste of her skin still on his tongue, the sound of her sighs in his ear. She’d left almost as soon as they’d finished, without another word, and it had taken everything in him not to rush after her and wrap her in his arms and hold her close, to beg her not to leave. 

Ben is sitting on his bed, his sheets tangled, and they still smell like jasmine, and he wonders how he did everything so fucking wrong. 

(he has never been able to make people feel compelled to stay close to him, and devi is just another string in a long line of failures. she is, however, the one that hurts the most)

He runs his hands over the sheets, the bed still warm. He misses her already, and he wonders if it is possible to miss someone you never really had. 

Ben groans, and falls back on his sheets, running his hands over his face. He swears if he closes his eyes and concentrates on his breathing, if he doesn’t move, he can almost feel her body here, warmth bleeding into his bed. 

He cannot count the number of times she has been in his bed, the number of times she has ended up here wrapped in his sheets like she belonged there. 

(she did) 

And there is nothing left to comfort him, no one left who can really understand this. 

Except Devi. 

And now, now he has listened to Eleanor talk about Devi being in love with him and he nearly wants to throw up because the possibility is so ridiculous. 

Ben had been there the first time she turned him down, and he’d barely recovered his heart after that. Sometimes he thinks he never did, sometimes he thinks some part of him broke when she broke his heart in sophomore year, and he never really recovered from that. 

He’d loved her. He hadn’t known it then, but he knows it now. Had loved her with everything he was, everything that he’d been. 

(as much as you can love someone at fifteen, that was how much he had loved her. confusing, overwhelming, with a sort of shakiness that a willow branch in a tornado feels. loving her was never really the question, though. it was whether or not she would ever be able to love him back)

And picking up the pieces of his heart after that—he thinks it is like trying to rake up autumn leaves in a windstorm, futile and reckless, but something you cannot stop doing. 

Ben parks his car and sits in it. He reaches into his bag and pulls out the pen she gave him, turns it over in his hands over and over again. “Fuck,” he breathes. The number of times he has stared at the picture of her he took during their trip to their conservatory is bordering on unhealthy, but frankly, he doesn’t care. 

He thinks about it, that time after sophomore year, how he’d barely been able to fight her in class, how he’d avoided her at every single opportunity. Or maybe she avoided him. Before, he didn’t really let himself think about how much it had hurt. He didn’t really let him think about how much she had wrecked him. 

But now it is the only thing he can think about. It lives in his head like a horrific vinyl record, something he can’t stop, no matter how hard he tries. 

Ben hates to think about Malibu, hates to think about how he had to watch Devi smile and laugh with Paxton right after she’d kissed him. And part of him hates himself for having a broken heart, because he shouldn’t have been surprised. 

There is no world in which Devi chooses him, and he had just deluded himself into thinking that there was a chance here. 

He was never what she wanted, not once. Some part of him has let himself be deluded into the thought that she might love him, but she won’t. He hadn’t been surprised when she’d chosen Paxton over him, just—heartbroken. Because he’d let himself get his hopes up when she’d kissed him and then found his heart firmly crushed when she started dating Paxton. 

(he has never been the first choice, ever) 

Ben stares at the pen, tucks it back into his bag and goes inside his house, up to his room before he crawls into bed. He doesn’t have the energy for anything else, has barely has the energy to show up to school every day and survive when she is _right there._

Tennyson said, “tis better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all.” 

Ben would just like to say, fuck you. 

Because loving and losing is worse than anything else he could have ever imagined, even if he is the one who has pushed her away. 

Loving and losing is the most painful thing one can ever go through. How can that be better than never loving at all? At least then, he wouldn’t know what it feels like to hold her in his arms and hear her laugh and feel her smile pressed against his own, at least then, he wouldn’t feel the pain of giving her his heart, knowing she would never accept it. 

He groans and pulls the covers up to his face, burying himself in his bed. 

(a raw wound and an open sore pulses in the middle of his chest, where devi took his heart when they were fifteen. part of him wants to beg for it back, part of him wants to go crawling to her and plead for her to give it back to him, so that he can breathe. but then more of him knows that he will never get his heart back from devi, will never get it back from her. it’s always been hers, and only hers) 

There is a pit in his stomach, hard and unbreaking like the pit of a cherry, and it will never go away.

Ben closes his eyes, tries not to think about Devi’s fingers, brushing his cheek, and falls into a restless, uneasy sleep. 

* * *

Kamala doesn’t really know how to approach Devi about—whatever the hell is going on. 

Frankly, she’s not really sure what the hell _is_ going on either. All she knows is that Devi has been off. 

There is some deep part of her, the part that protects her family against all odds, that knows there is something wrong with Devi. 

(kamala is a scientist and a researcher, but more than that, first and foremost she is a woman and a sister. she loves devi with all of her heart, and she will do whatever is necessary in order to keep devi’s heart safe. she is too young for this, too young to know heartbreak like she has, and sometimes it hurts kamala that she cannot take devi’s pain away) 

She knows that if she knocks on Devi’s door and asks her questions, then there will be deflection and secrets and dancing around the problem, so it leaves her with no other choice to ambush her. 

Kind of like a war movie, she thinks, except Kamala hates war movies and doesn’t spend much of her time watching them. She gets her kicks watching nice Bollywood movies where everyone gets together at the end.

So it is what spurs her to talk to Devi after school on the last day, to see what is wrong with her. 

For the first time, she walks into Devi’s room without knocking, finds her on her bed, surrounded by drawings. 

“Hey there,” Kamala says, leaning against the doorway. Maybe if she doesn’t try too hard to get Devi to open up and acts cool, Devi will tell her? God, she hopes she looks cool. 

Devi startles, scrabbling at the papers on her bed. “Oh my god,” she breathes. “You scared me.” 

Kamala cringes. “Sorry about that, girl. I wasn’t trying to.” 

Devi narrows her eyes at her. “What are you doing?” 

“What do you mean?” Kamala scoffs, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “I’m not doing anything.” 

‘You’re talking like a Valley Girl and it’s insanely disturbing,” she deadpans. “Just stop trying to be cool. You’ll never get there.” 

Kamala rolls her eyes and walks further into Devi’s room, closing the door behind her. “Ok, kanna. Thank you so much for thinking so highly of me.” 

Devi tilts her head and gives her a bright smile. “Any time.” 

She folds her hands in her lap as she perches on the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb any of the sketches. “These are lovely, Devi,” she murmurs, picking up one of Mohan. 

Devi gives her a small smile. “Thank you.” 

“I had no idea you were this talented.” Kamala picks up another one, a page full of flower drawings. “Why don’t you submit these for a competition, or something? They’re excellent.” 

Devi shakes her head, running her finger down the edge of one of the papers. “No. I just like to draw. Helps me think. I don’t want to feel pressured to create something perfect.” 

Kamala shifts the papers and comes across at least three pages filled with sketches of hands, some intertwining, some reaching for one another, some on their own. “These are really good,”’ she murmurs. “Isn’t it like, impossible to draw hands?” 

Blushing, Devi nods. “Yeah, hands are ridiculously hard. I just draw them a lot. So I’ve had a lot of practice.” 

Something in the tone of Devi’s voice jostles something in Kamala’s mind, causing one of the many memories she holds to shake free. Kamala pulls the memory out, runs over it and studies Devi like one might study a data set. 

Devi glances up and flinches. “Uh, why the hell are you looking at me like that?” 

“Like what?” Kamala says, a bit faintly. 

“Like I’m your favorite _Riverdale_ fanfiction that just got updated and you’re trying to figure out where the story is going to go next.” 

“Oh.” Kamala blinks, shaking her head. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to look at you like that,” she laughs. “I was just….” she trails off, looking back down at the papers. 

“Just…?” Devi prompts. 

Kamala frowns, and picks up one of the pages, a drawing of a pair of intertwined hands in the middle. “Whose hands are these?” 

Devi startles, as if she wasn’t expecting Kamala to ask her that. “What?” 

“They’re extremely life-like,” she murmurs. “You did these without a model?” 

Devi blushes again. “Not—not exactly. More like from, um, memory?” 

“Memory?” Kamala’s brows furrow. “What?” She glances up from the page to see Devi tracing the lines of her own palm over and over again, and the pieces click together. 

“This is you and Ben.” 

Devi nods. “Yeah.” 

Kamala sets the paper down and leans forward, taking Devi’s hand in hers. “Kanna,” she whispers. “I’m here. You can talk to me, you know.” 

Devi smiles bitterly at her. “Talk to you about what, Kamala? About how—how Ben and I had a falling out and we’re not friends anymore? About what—” she breaks off. “I don’t know.” 

Kamala squeezes Devi’s hand. “What?” she pushes. 

Devi bites her lip. “You were right,” she admits. 

Kamala smirks, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. “You’ll have to be a bit more specific, I’m afraid. I find I’m right about quite a lot of things.” 

Devi smacks her gently in the arm. “Shut up,” she huffs, but she’s smiling. “No, no. You were—you were right about Ben.” 

“Again, Devi, I require a few more specifics, please.” 

Devi grips her hand tighter, breathing heavily. “You were right when you said that—I might have feelings for him.” 

Kamala tempers down the smile that threatens to cross her face at this information. She _knew_ it. She focuses, instead, on Devi, arching her eyebrow. “Might?” 

Devi shoots her a dark glare. “You know what I mean.” 

“I do, but I think you need to say it.” 

Devi bites her lip, looking down at her lap. 

(it is now kamala realizes that getting devi to admit anything emotional is not like pulling teeth, did not stem from anything other than fear. and kamala understands why. love is scary. there is no other way to put it) 

“I have feelings for Ben,” she whispers, and Kamala feels a smile spread across her face before it’s dashed with the next words that come out of Devi’s mouth. “And he wants nothing to do with me.” 

“Impossible,” Kamala scoffs. “Have you _seen_ the way that boy looks at you? He’s completely gone for you.” 

Devi jerks her head up, staring at Kamala. “Wh—what?” 

Kamala waves her hand carefully. “You can’t tell me you didn’t notice.” She catches the wide-eyed look on Devi’s face, her hand trembling slightly where it grips the pencil. “Oh, god, you really didn’t know, did you?” 

“Kamala,” Devi says, her voice shaking, almost flickering, like a sputtering fire. “What are you talking about?” 

(kamala has never heard devi quite like this, so—so shocked, like she’s been on a rollercoaster and all of the oxygen in her body has been stolen right out from under her, like she is swaying on the bow of the titanic as it tips into the sea, almost ninety degrees up in the air) 

Kamala looks down at the sketches, pulls one out. She recognizes it as Ben, his mouth split into a wide smile, the care that must have gone into every single stroke of the drawing. “Devi,” she whispers. 

“How _exactly_ do you feel about Ben?” 

Devi swallows, pulling her hand from Kamala’s and taking the sketch from her. Kamala watches as Devi runs her fingers across the drawing, across Ben’s face. 

(her face softens and turns muted, as she looks at the sketch, sort of like a sunrise, bleeding from the darkness of night, angles and lines, into something intangible, gossamer and silken, gentle and loving) 

“I’m not sure.” 

Kamala frowns, cupping her chin in her palm. She knows science, knows logic and reasoning, and just because love is emotional doesn’t mean it’s entirely illogical. “I think you do, Devi.” 

Devi raises her eyes to Kamala’s, scowling at her. “If you know, why don’t you tell me?” 

Kamala shrugs. “Fine. I think you’re in love with him.” 

* * *

The words punch her in the stomach, leave her gasping, grappling for air. 

“W—what?” she gasps. 

Kamala leans even closer, dark eyes sparkling intently. “I think that you are in love with Ben. And I think he loves you back.” 

Devi laughs a little manically. “In—in love with _Ben?_ Yeah, right.” 

Her cousin reaches over and pulls out a bunch of papers, dropping them in her lap. “Exhibit A. Exhibit B. Exhibit C. Would you like me to continue?” she says, mockingly sweet. 

Devi scowls at her. “What is this?” 

“Evidence,” Kamala says, seriously, as if this is proof of a clandestine affair that could rock the foundation of the United States as they know it. “Damning evidence, by the looks of it.” 

“Of what?” 

“Your feelings for Ben, of course!” Kamala insists. “Look, Devi,” she says, holding up a hand. “All I ask is that you use the logical, scientific part of your brain to try and look at this. And just hear me out, _please.”_

Devi shuts her mouth resolutely and nods, although she’s not happy about it. 

“Devi,” Kamala murmurs. “You must have—dozens of drawings of him. You don’t draw someone that many times unless they make you feel something. Something really strong and intense and almost—alive. Can’t you see?” She holds up a sketch. “You love him. You looked so happy when you guys went to prom together, he’s one of your best friends, and you’ve been miserable without him. Kanna, you’re in _love_ with him. Can’t you see?” 

Devi swallows roughly, a sinking feeling descending on her. “I—how do you know this?” 

Kamala gives her a smile. “Because of how you look at him.” 

“How do I do that?” Her hand shakes as she tucks her hair behind her ear, heart racing like she’s finished a marathon. 

“Like he’s everything.” Kamala leans forward, gently strokes her hand down Devi’s hair as she pulls her closer, resting Devi’s head on her shoulder. “Everything you wanted.” 

Because he _is._ Ben is all she wants for the rest of her life. Devi has always wanted a partner, an equal, a friend, someone to challenge her and encourage her, someone to make her shine brighter without dimming their own light, and she finds all of that in him. 

She’s in love with Ben. 

(devi thinks of the twenty three point five degree tilt the earth's axis has, the result of ten major collisions eons and epochs and countless years ago. fundamentally shifting the earth, changing everything, by twenty three point five degrees. a small amount, by any other means. and yet, that small amount is what gives the earth seasons, what causes crystal snow and crimson leaves to fall, what causes birdsong to erupt like volcanoes and apricot orchards to glow in august nights. the realization that she loves him is like a thousand asteroids slamming into her at the same time. it tilts her axis, throws her off balance, sends her spinning into space, off kilter, everything irrevocably changed. she will always be a little off her axis now)

“Oh my god,” Devi breathes. She runs her hand down her face. _“Fuck,”_ she hisses. 

“Ok,” Kamala says, slowly. “Not exactly the reaction I thought we would be having, but a reaction nonetheless.” 

She swallows back to nausea that rises up in her stomach like a wave. “I’m in love with him,” she repeats, faintly, so quiet she can barely hear herself. 

Devi closes her eyes and thinks of the past twelve years, thinks of Ben and his hand in hers and his smile. Thinks of the way he made her feel when he kissed her or joked with her and thinks of his heart. Thinks of how good he is, and how much she hurt him. 

She loves him. Loves him in a way she’s never loved anyone else before, wholly, sensationally, overwhelmingly. Crushingly. She loves Ben. And he doesn’t feel the same way. 

“It doesn’t matter,” she says, opening her eyes again. “It doesn’t matter whether or not I love him. He doesn’t love me back.” 

Kamala frowns. “Why are you deciding this for him?” 

Devi laughs bitterly, swiping at the tears that threaten to fall. “It’s not a decision, Kamala. It’s just the facts. Ben doesn’t love me back.” 

Kamala swears in Tamil then, and Devi jerks back in shock. “Kamala!” she scolds, her mouth dropping open. 

Her cousin doesn’t even bat an eye. “I’m sorry, Devi, but it’s bullshit. I can’t believe he’d tell you that he’s not in love with you.” 

Devi freezes. “Well…” she starts. “He never _told_ me. I just—I know.” 

“You mean you assumed,” Kamala says, in that same tone of voice Ben gets whenever he thinks he’s correcting her. 

“No, I mean I know,” she insists. “After—after what happened sophomore year, there’s literally no way he could have feelings for me again. It’s just—it’s not possible.” 

Devi closes her eyes as she speaks, trying to ignore how the words cut at her. No matter how much she knows this is true, no matter how much she thinks Ben doesn’t love her like that, it still hurts. It’s like the wound left behind when a muscle tears—never really fully healing. Ben’s heart is the muscle she broke, and she doubts that it’s healed. But it still hurts to think about, because she wants him to love her more than almost anything else in the world. 

“He doesn’t love me,” she scoffs. 

She feels Kamala’s hand smooth up and down her back, comforting. “Devi,” she murmurs, voice sounding like every late-night conversation Devi has ever had, a bit raw, warm and secretive, “you don’t know that. You don’t know for sure.” 

“I broke his heart, Kamala,” she whispers. Devi buries her face in her hands. “I broke his heart, and he’s never going to forgive me for that. I don’t—blame him. I wouldn’t.” 

“You what?” 

“You—after sophomore year,” she tries to explain. “It’s a long story, but I broke his heart. Made him think he—he had a chance with me and then I said no and ran away from him. There’s no way he’s getting over that. I know it.” 

“Kanna, you don’t—” 

“I do. Otherwise,” she points out, “why would he have stopped? Why would he have wanted—” she takes a deep breath in, shuddering, damning the tears before they can leak out, “—a clean break?” 

Kamala frowns. “I don’t know what happened, really, between you guys, not back then, or not now, but what I do know is just that because you think he doesn’t love you doesn’t mean that’s true.” 

“But—” 

“Devi, look at me.” She opens her eyes to find Kamala looking at her, serious and kind. She looks like every woman Devi has always wanted to be. 

“Why do you love him?” 

She furrows her brow. “What?” 

“Why do you love Ben?” When Devi just continues to stare at her, gaping, she presses a bit more. “Come on. You can tell me.” 

“I mean, I don’t know,” she mutters, cheeks flushing as she looks down at her lap. She picks up the sketch she did of him while he was sleeping, face slack and relaxed in sleep. “There are a lot of reasons. He—he’s got a really big heart. I know that, because of Malibu. He challenges me and pushes me to be better. And he makes me happy. I’m happier around him than anywhere else.” 

(she is reminded suddenly, almost viscerally, of the concept of wave interference. it can be either constructive or destructive. in constructive interference, two waves combine to amplify each other, make each other louder and better. in destructive interference, though, the two waves clash, cancel each other out so they both cease to exist. for ten years, she and ben had been destructive waves, looking to cancel each other out, when what they really should have been doing was amplifying one another)

“If he has such a big heart,” Kamala says. “Don’t you think he’s forgiven you?”

Devi smiles wistfully. “Maybe in another world. Where I apologized. And I told him.” 

“Well then why don’t you!” Kamala shouts. 

Devi startles, shocked. “What?” 

Kamala grabs Devi by the shoulders. “You’re in love with him. Why haven’t you _told_ him?” 

“Because he doesn’t—feel the same way,” she stammers out, suddenly taken aback by the intense look in Kamala’s eyes. 

Kamala groans and dramatically throws her hands in the air. “So what, it’s an exercise in futility?” 

“Yes!” 

(because what—what is the point in telling someone you love them if they don’t love you back? what’s the point in setting yourself up for just more heartbreak?) 

Kamala pinches her nose. “Don’t you think he deserves to hear how you feel? From you?” 

Devi opens her mouth, and then closes it, shocked. Her feelings for Ben, they are like a comet. Trapped in an elliptical path, just because she can’t see them doesn’t mean they don’t exist. But when they come back, circling around again, she can’t tear her eyes off of them, and all she can do is pray for them to vanish. 

(but this time the comet has turned into an asteroid, and she is right in its path, in the center of the crater) 

“I—” she stammers out. 

“You’re so scared, Devi,” Kamala says gently. 

“It just got—easy. After a while. To live with being scared. To push him away,” she whispers. 

“I thought you liked him then,” Kamala says. 

“I did,” Devi confirms. 

“So then how was pushing him away easy?” 

Devi bites her lip. “Not easy,” she says. She pauses, as if searching for the right word. “Habitual,” she eventually settles on. “After some time, pushing him away became a habit. It became something I taught myself to do and then I didn’t know how to stop it. I didn’t know if I wanted to stop it.” 

(she is so, so scared. being loved like ben loves; overwhelmingly, with an almost consuming sort of force, being loved like that _terrifies_ her, because she’s not ever sure she’ll be able to love him back like he deserves, she’s not ever sure she’ll be able to love like he does. being loved like that is terrifying, because devi knows, she knows she had the ability to destroy him back in sophomore year. and she did)

Kamala reaches a hand out, lacing her fingers with Devi’s. “Running away from him became a habit, Devi, but I think we all know running to him is your first instinct.”

Devi blinks at her, slowly. “What?” 

“You have always found comfort in Ben. You’ve been denying your nature this whole time.” 

“Kamala, I don’t—what?” Devi chokes out.

“If it were you,” Kamala says. “Wouldn’t you want to know? That someone loved you?” 

Devi feels her answer rise up from the tips of her toes through her body slowly, like the slow burn of lava, rising up through the conduit of a volcano, hot and scorching, permeating through her skin like stepping onto hot gravel. It is an eruption waiting to happen. 

She swallows roughly. “I would.” 

Kamala smiles. “I think you have your answer then.” 

Devi laughs a little bitterly. “But if he doesn’t even love me back, then there’s no point. I’m just—going to end up breaking my own heart again.” 

“That’s a risk you have to take.” Kamala says this softly, as if lowering the volume of the words can make it less painful, as if it will make it seem more like flaming arrows rather than an atomic bomb. It does not work. Lately Devi has noticed this, noticed people’s tendency to soften their words, as if to soften the blow. 

But the thing is that words are not like atomic bombs or grenades. Words are not like any other weapon in the world, because you can say the same thing hundreds of times, and, unlike the edge of a sharp knife, it never dulls. 

Devi wraps her arms around herself. “A risk,” she repeats. 

She’s an adrenaline junkie, and she takes plenty of risks, likes doing adventurous and risky things, but opening up her heart to him, that might be the riskiest thing of all. She is embracing—for lack of a better word—the chance she might get destroyed. 

(but what is love if not the knowledge that you have the power to destroy someone else, and the decision—rather, the judgement—that you would never do that?) 

She gnaws her lip, glances down and runs her fingers over the sketches. Something stirs in her chest, something alive and a little feral, something hungry. 

It is her heart, she realizes. 

Devi takes a deep breath. “God.” 

Kamala squeezes her shoulder. “You’ve got this, Devi.” 

Devi glances at Kamala. “I need to tell him.” 

(and suddenly, it wells up in her like the tide does—and devi realizes her feelings about ben are not like a comet, which is circling on an orbital, elliptical path towards its own destruction, which vanishes into the night sky and returns years and years later. she loves ben, and she loves him in the way the pull of the moon loves the tide: inextricably tied, ever constant, cyclical in intensity. she doesn’t always feel like this, like she can’t breathe because she loves him so much. sometimes it ebbs up in her slowly, lapping gently at the stones in the bottom of her heart, but she always loves him) 

“Yes!” Kamala claps her hands. “Oh my god, this is so exciting! It’s like that moment in _DDLJ_ when—” 

“No!” Devi says, holding her hands out. “Don’t spoil the movie for me!” 

Kamala rolls her eyes. “Devi, that movie is literally almost as old as _I_ am. You’ve got to be joking.” 

“I know that Simran and Raj get together at the end, obviously,” she snaps. “I just don’t want to know anything else.” 

“Oh, come on!” Kamala protests, as Devi slides off her bed and starts dashing around her room, grabbing tic-tacs, two different scarves, and a pair of striped socks before she realizes none of those things are helpful. “That movie’s been around for like, over 25 years! You can’t tell me you don’t know about the famous scene at the end!” 

“We can continue this discussion later, Kamala,” Devi breathes, scrabbling at her desk for her keys. “Right now, I have to talk to Ben, right away.” 

“Right, right, sorry,” Kamala says, holding her hands up. “Do you need me to drive you to his house?” 

“No, I—need a little time to think,” she says, running a hand down her face. “I’ll walk.” 

Kamala claps her hands and squeals a little. “Oh my god, this is amazing! Like—the scene in _When Harry Met Sally_ when Harry goes to the New Year’s Eve party and tells Sally everything he loves about her!” 

“Kamala,” Devi stresses. “I have to _go.”_

(she needs to go, right now. the scales have been tipped, the match has been ignited. the words are floating around in her throat like sparks from a sparkler float in the air, and the dynamite is about to explode. she doesn’t know how much longer she can keep it in, she doesn’t know how many more moments she can go before it spills out of her uncontrolled and ridiculous) 

“I’m not keeping you here, Devi!” Kamala says, pressing her hand against her chest in shock. “Why do you keep telling me this?” 

“Because you’re sitting on my phone!” Devi snaps. “And I need it!” 

“Oh. Sorry.” 

Kamala shifts off her phone and lets Devi grab it. She’s on her way to her door when she hears Kamala’s voice call out, “Devi, wait!” 

Devi groans. “Kamala, please. I—I need to go.” 

Kamala nods, getting up and gathering up all the papers on the bed. “But don’t you want these?” 

Devi freezes, eyes flickering from Kamala’s face to the sketches in her hand. “I—” 

“You might need them,” she says gently. “Just take them. In case.” 

Devi’s hand shakes as she reaches out, wrapping her hand around the sketchbook, tucking the looser papers into it more firmly. She swallows, looking at the sketchbook, unable to look at Kamala. 

“I don’t know if I can do this.” 

“You can.” 

Devi looks up and sees steely conviction in Kamala’s eyes. 

“Go, Devi.” 

She breathes in. Nods at Kamala, and runs out the door, headed to his house. 

Devi has run. She has run away from everything in her life; her family, her friends, her father’s death, Malibu, and Ben. Devi knows how to run. It is something coded into her DNA, how to run away from her emotions and how to avoid feeling things. She knows how to run away. She’s good at it, probably a little too good. 

But for the first time in her life, she is not running from Ben, and what he is making her feel. She is running to him. 

Devi is chasing him instead. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> your comments and kudos make me happier than fabiola dating eve! come talk to me about the show! you can find me on tumblr: @[parkersedith](https://parkersedith.tumblr.com)


	16. act xvi: just when i thought it was over, you got me running, running, running for cover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _She feels like a torn sail, fluttering in the wind, when Ben’s eyes lock on hers. He has always been so much better at hiding his feelings than she is, and she wishes that she were able to read him right now, able to figure out what he is thinking._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was brought to you by weasley falling off rose's bed and maggie's tipsy texting
> 
> when i posted the first chapter of this fic, i honestly didn't think i could get here. i mean, i _hoped_ i would, but i seriously doubted i would be able to, or, at least before uni. well, i did, and now i'm here. this was my first time ever trying out something as exhausting as a multichap, and i sincerely hope it worked. this fic holds a very special place in my heart for all that it brought me, most important of which is you guys. i have had the best time in the world talking to some of you, and getting to know you. there are, of course, a few people i have to thank. 
> 
> rose, thank you for encouraging me to develop what was originally supposed to be a 5+1 fic into a long form multichap. i could not have done this without the three pages of ideas you texted me and some of the golden dialogue you provded. you are iconic, such a queen, and i love you so much
> 
> cori, i met you through your wonderful comments on this fic and fell in love with your sparkling personality. thank you so much for always always pushing me to be better and motivating me with your lovely words. you have no idea just how special you are. just absolutely amazing
> 
> maggie, i also met you through this fic, but i was a really big admirer (silent, ofc, cause i'm awkward lol✌️) of your writing before, so getting to meet you was like the dream. thank you so much for your constant encouragement and excitement with this fic. you are the best in the world, and i love you so much
> 
> leila, you have been my first friend in this fandom and the best supporter i have had. thank you, thank you, thank you, for everything. i can't even begin to list everything you've done for me, because then the list would be too long, but just know that i appreciate it, and you, from the bottom of my heart. you are so smart, so amazing, and i adore you so so much. thank you!
> 
> and finally to everyone who commented, read, left kudos, or messaged me about this fic, thank you, thank you, thank you. i have the sincerest gratitude in my heart for you all. you're lovely and wonderful, and this fic would not have been the success it was without all your unwavering support. thank you!
> 
> i'm posting this chapter, and tomorrow, i'm moving into my dorm room, so, this is the end of an era, but you certainly haven't seen the last of me. i have already written my next fic that i'll be posting for these two, and i have new ideas every day. once again, thank you, for everything. 
> 
> (chapter title from “say you love me” by fleetwood mac)
> 
> thank you guys _so_ much. i sincerely hope you enjoy!!!

She goes to his house first. 

Devi is not exactly thinking straight, or, really, she’s not letting herself think much at all, because she’s scared that if she thinks, she is going to think herself out of this. She’s scared she might let herself be a coward, like she did two years ago. 

(she swears on her life, she will not let herself repeat sophomore year. this time, she’s going to be the brave one—or she’s going to try—and she’s going to tell ben how he feels. even if he doesn’t feel the same way.

and the very thought of that hurts, hurts her heart, that he might not love her back, but she doesn’t really expect him to, doesn’t really expect him to be foolish enough, or gracious enough, really, to grace her with his heart after she crushed it so brutally in sophomore year. she’s not that lucky, and all she can do is tell him now and hope that the regrets of not loving him back then don’t overwhelm her until she can’t breathe. 

he deserves to know. he deserves to know how she feels, to be _told_ how she feels. she’s never told ben how she feels about him, has hid behind kisses and touches and—other boys for two years, but she has never _told_ him, not with her own lips. and suddenly, she thinks she cannot go one more moment without telling him) 

Her hands shake as she walks up the steps to his house, and she is a thousand times more nervous than she was the first time they slept together here, she is a thousand times more nervous than she was when he brought her home in sophomore year, the week before Malibu, she is a thousand times more nervous. 

Devi knocks on the door, wrenching her hand away from it almost as soon as she does, trying to stem the ever growing tide of regret. She has to do this, she can’t do this, she has to do this. 

She doesn’t know if she’s relieved or sad when Patty opens the door, hand tightening instinctively on the sketchbook in her hands. “Miss Devi!” she says, smiling brightly. 

God, just Patty’s smile eases her nerves, the ache that is so prominent in her stomach she thinks it might never go away. “Hi, Patty,” she manages. “Is—is Ben here?” 

Patty frowns, and for a split second, Devi has the horrifying thought that Ben told Patty not to let her in, not to let her see him, and the worst part is, she would understand why. 

“No, he is not,” she says, and the lump in Devi’s throat dislodges just the slightest bit. “Would you like me to give him a message?” 

Devi shakes her head. “No, no, this is something I need to talk to him about,” she breathes. No matter how much she might want an intermediary between her and Ben, this is between them. 

She’s not going to run away this time. 

“Do you know where I could find him?” she says, hoping she doesn’t sound too desperate. The words feel like they are clawing at her throat, tearing it to shreds, desperate to get out, a little feral. She’s kept them held back for so long, she needs to say them. 

Patty nods. “Yeah, he mentioned school? He left items there.” She scrunches her nose up. “Why young boy goes back to school during summer, I will never know.” 

“Oh,” Devi says, already backing away, nodding. “Thank you, Patty.” 

She doesn’t even wait for Patty’s response before she’s turning around, dashing down the steps and down the sidewalk, headed towards the school. 

It always comes back to there, for them. It is where all of this started. She hopes it will not end there. 

Devi pushes open the door of the school to find Ben at his locker, shoving his notebooks into his backpack. 

Just the mere sight of him steals all of the air out of her lungs, and there’s something about this hallway, right here, right now, that feels almost like a void. Like a small pocket of space carved out for just them, a vacuum, stealing all of the air. 

She aches for him a thousand times more viscerally now, aches for him so much she can physically feel it. She wants him so much her teeth ache. She loves him. 

Devi clears her throat. “Ben,” she says. 

She feels like a torn sail, fluttering in the wind, when Ben’s eyes lock on hers. He has always been so much better at hiding his feelings than she is, and she wishes that she were able to read him right now, able to figure out what he is thinking. 

He doesn’t even say anything, but his hand tightens—almost imperceptibly—on his backpack strap. 

She steps closer, clutching the sketchbook like it’s her lifeline—and she would think it is if not for the weight of his eyes on her. She doesn’t know how she managed to go so long without his eyes looking at her. “Ben,” she says again. 

“Hi,” he says. 

(his voice is quiet, and yet it works like flint on a bonfire, erupting something inside of her, something feral and unrestrained and hungry. something greedy) 

“Hi,” she breathes, and she aches, aches with the desire to kiss him, to dig her hands into his hair and kiss him until they’re both left dizzy from lack of oxygen, to kiss him until their lips are chapped and sensitive, to kiss him until she doesn’t know anything but him. 

Ben doesn’t move, but his eyes flicker down her body, drinking her in, and when he raises them back up to hers, it feels like stars imploding. 

There is _something_ in his gaze, something there that she can see, and she doesn’t quite know what it is, but it gives her the courage to step forward, a little closer to him. 

The distance between them feels stifling and freeing all at once.

She wants to bask in his gaze, to let herself melt into it, to live in the space he creates whenever his eyes fall on her. It’s the safest place she’s ever been. 

And even though she ran to him, even though she’s the one who sought him out, Ben is the first one to speak. “Devi.” 

(her name falling from his lips feels like an atomic bomb) 

“What are you doing here?” 

The words claw themselves—no, they do not claw themselves. There is nothing so violent and bloody as that. They push themselves up out of her throat like budding flowers do through soil, looking for the sun. 

“I’m sorry.” 

The muscle in his jaw jumps as he clenches it, looking away from her. “It’s ok, Devi.” 

She shakes her head. “No, don’t—please don’t do that.” 

At this, he looks at her, tired and searching. Like an explorer at the end of the world, storm weary and wind whipped, and yet still unable to stop looking. 

(she hopes, she hopes she can give him what he is looking for) 

“Don’t do what?” 

“Ben,” she says. Swallows, takes a breath. “I’m sorry for what I did in sophomore year.” 

She lets the words drop like bombs on him. He flinches back, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “It’s not—” 

“No.” She cuts him off. She doesn’t want to hear platitudes from him. She’s accepted them for far too long. “It is a big deal.” 

Devi swallows. “I’m sorry for kissing you in sophomore year and then running away. You didn’t deserve that.” 

His gaze softens, and he looks down at the floor. “I was just as much to blame as you.” 

“No, you weren’t.” 

Ben nods. “I was.” He kicks his foot against the floor, still not looking at her. “I wanted you too much, too quickly. You didn’t want me. I get that now. It was unfair for me to cut you off the way I did.” 

Her head _spins_ at his words, at what he is saying happened, because it’s so horribly different from what she thought happened. She wonders if they had watched it fall in two different ways. 

(relationships are like rome. they are not built in a day, but that’s all it takes for them to fall. she set fire to them before they could ever really spark. she destroyed them before she built them, like an earthquake ripping apart the scaffolding of a building) 

“I—I wanted you, Ben,” she admits. 

Ben laughs wryly. “Really?” 

“It scared me,” she says. His eyes, on hers. And in them, she sees them, twelve years of history, concentrated, intense. They have always been just a little too much. “It still does.” 

Malibu had been so much more than salty sea kisses and epiphanies: Malibu had been honest, and open, and raw. 

It had torn her apart and flung her across the heavens, and she wonders if she will ever be able to think about it without feeling a little wounded. 

(it is like—being flayed, she thinks, her heart had been carefully cut open, and spread out, laid bare and wide and free for all to see. ben had done that. he’d flayed her, worse than turning her inside and out, because she’d felt the pain the entire time. she’s been running from it ever since)

She stills the air in her lungs and tries to speak. “I shouldn’t have run from you, Ben,” she admits. “I wanted you. I—I liked you. You were just—so scary.” 

Ben furrows his brows. “Devi, I don’t—” 

“I—I love you,” she says. 

Ben steps back, as if the words have forced him away from her, and it _hurts,_ because she never wants those words to make him run from her. She wants those words to make him run to her. His eyes flicker over her face, searching her for lies. 

“Don’t lie to me,” he says, slowly. “Please, Devi.” 

“I’m not lying to you!” she insists. “Ben, I—I mean it.” 

He runs a hand through his hair. “Devi, I can’t—you don’t mean that. You just think that because of—I don’t know—” 

“Ben.” 

He closes his eyes. “Devi, please,” he whispers. “I can’t believe you again. Doing it once hurt enough.” 

(she has to find a way to tell him, to get him to believe that she loves him. because she does, with every beat of her heart. she needs him to believe her) 

Devi feels her heart shatter in her chest and she knew—she knew that Ben didn’t love her back, but him just not _believing_ her, when she tells him? That’s something she never thought would be possible. 

Her hands tighten around her sketchbook. She can use this, she can make him believe her. 

“Words have never been my thing. I feel like you know me better when I’m not talking. I—I don’t know how to tell you. Just let me show you, _please.”_

His throat bobs as he swallows harshly. “Show me what?” he rasps. 

Devi shoves the sketchbook at him, hands shaking. She opens it and flips through, pulling out pages and shoving them in his face. “Look.” Her voice trembles like a tree branch in a tempest, and that is what Ben is: a torrential storm. 

Ben picks up a drawing of him she did after prom night, before he came to get her on Monday. “What—what are these?” 

“You,” she says. “God, Ben, they’re—they’re all you.” 

Devi runs a hand through her hair, well aware she looks like a mess, but she can’t process anything other than trying to get the words out. “I draw them when I—feel something for you. Or when I’m thinking about you. I draw them when I can’t get you out of my mind.” 

He runs his finger down the edge of another drawing. “Devi, there—there has to be dozens. Here, I mean.” 

She cracks a rueful smile. “Yeah.” 

“Is that bad?” 

He won’t look her in the eyes. 

She feels bile rise up in the back of her throat, and she rushes to correct him. “No, no, Ben, it’s not bad.” She takes a deep breath, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Mountain air fills her lungs—the kind that lifts her up, that grows bravery like flowers in her stomach. 

(there’s an old myth from india, devi remembers, from the ramayana, an epic her father had used to read to her, about a queen, sita, who stepped into a massive fire to prove her love for her king, rama. it was said that her love burned so fierce and so pure that the flames could not bear to hurt her. she’d always dismissed it before as a stupid, sexist tale—which it is, rigidly sexist—but now she understands. understands what could push someone to stand in the middle of a bonfire for someone else. 

because admitting this to ben is like stepping into her very own bonfire, is like throwing herself into the flames and trusting them not to hurt her. she does not know if she will be protected, but she cannot refuse to try)

“I drew them _because_ I’m in love with you.” 

Ben’s head snaps up and he stares at her. She can see the papers shake in his hands, but his eyes focus on hers, laser-like, bright. 

(blue stars burn the hottest) 

“What?” he breathes. 

“I—I don't know how to not feel when it comes to you. I don’t know how to stop falling in love with you, every day. You’re—you’re a part of me, and you’re a part of me I don't know how to cut out. I don’t want to cut you out of me,” she says. 

Devi steps forward, reaches up and cups Ben’s jaw. “Please,” she begs. “Please believe me, Ben.” 

She takes the sketchbook and papers from him, flips through them, and pulls the sketch she did of him while he was sick. “Look,” she breathes. “I—I promise you, I’m telling the truth.” 

He takes the sketch from her, hands shaking, and when his eyes lock with hers again, there is a shard of hope lodged in there. She clings to that hope, chest blooming with it, strong and wide and radiating in her lungs, like tree branches across the sky. 

“The truth?” he whispers. 

(there is a question built up in his voice, like a volcano, and she feels it with every single inch of her body, in her fingertips and toes and arms and head. she feels it laced in her body like gunpowder is laced through dynamite, and she is about to light the match)

Her breath catches in her throat, and her stomach catches butterflies. 

“The truth is that I love you,” Devi murmurs, voice low and dark and a million other things. “And I—I know you don’t deserve someone like me but, Ben.” She quells the nausea rising in her stomach. “Ben, I’m so in love with you I don’t think I’ll ever stop. I could never even _begin_ to love you as much as you deserve but I—I want to try? Please, please give me a chance. Let me love you, _please._ I know it’s not much but I swear, I love you. I love you.” 

Even as she speaks, Devi can feel her voice close up. Her voice is thick—not with tears, but with memories. Memories of him and who he was to her, and who he is, _now,_ flood her vision. Like a dam had been blocking the river for two and a half years, and now she has pulled the one stick to collapse the whole thing, the force of the whole river punching through oak bark and crumpling willow branches like paper. 

That’s the thing, about her and Ben. Nothing is ever what it seems.

Ben looks at her, and she thinks he might—step out and touch her, and she wants him to, oh, she wants him to, more than she can ever remember wanting anything else. 

“You’re in love with me,” he repeats. 

Devi nods, brushing her hair out of her face, and she tries to stem the tears. “I am, and I know you don’t love me but—” 

Ben holds up his hand, cutting her off. “Wait,” he murmurs. He pulls something out from his back pocket—his wallet, she notices—and pulls something out of it, handing it to her. 

She takes it. Opens it. It’s a picture of her, from their date, and—god, her hands are shaking, so hard she thinks she might split apart at the seams, breaking apart into a thousand and one pieces, starting at her heart. 

“What—what is this?” she rasps. 

(devi has always wondered why emily dickinson called hope the thing with feathers, but now she understands why. it unfurls its wings in her chest, and its feathers brush her beating heart. she dares not set it free, however. not quite yet) 

Ben rubs the back of his neck, cheeks flushing pink. “I don’t know how you don’t see it,” he laughs, self-deprecatingly. “Everyone else does.” 

She thinks she might see it now. 

“See what?”

Devi needs him to tell her. 

Ben’s fingers brush hers as he takes the photo back, tucking it into his pocket, and she can hear his breath shudder as he looks back up at her. “Everyone else knows that I’m in love with you.” 

Devi has been hoping against hope, has been waiting against all the odds, for those words to fall from his lips. And she does not know how Ben found it in his heart—his heart, which brought her to Malibu and to _him_ —to love her, but god, is she grateful for it. 

“You are.” 

A statement, not a question. 

Ben runs his tongue over his lips. “I’m in love with you, Devi,” he repeats, and she instantly becomes hooked on those words coming out of his mouth. “I love you. I think—” he pauses, takes a moment. “I think I was made to love you.” 

Ben has been a million things to her—her enemy, her friend, and the boy she kissed at Malibu, something more and less and in between. But standing here, right now, in front of him, he is just him. Just Ben. And she loves him for it. 

Devi lets the sketches drop to the floor, and then she takes a step forward. Another step, and then suddenly, she is in his arms, clutching him to her, tight, tight, pulling him impossibly closer. 

She buries her face in his neck, the scent of sandalwood, and just _breathes._

Maybe she should be kissing him right now—maybe there are a million other things she should be doing right now, but Devi cannot think of doing anything but holding him here, in her arms. She can’t think of doing anything but pressing her heartbeat against his, and so she clutches him tighter. 

Ben stiffens against her in shock, and then, like a volcano erupting, a dam breaking, a hurricane making landfall, his arms come up around her and pull her into him. He practically crushes her against him, hugging her so tight her head spins, and she can’t breathe, but god, she doesn’t want to. 

She would rather pass out right here, right now, holding him, than take a chance and break away. 

(she and ben have kissed and slept together and have touched each other’s bodies, they have been enemies and friends and lovers and almost everything in between, but they have never held each other like this. like each other’s lifelines. a red string ties them together)

Devi closes her eyes, pressing her nose into his neck, and she can hear the beat of his heart pounding in her ears, perfectly in tandem with her own. Her heart is beating out his name. 

Ben loves her. He _loves_ her, and she has been waiting for him to love her for what feels like her entire life. At times, it seems like the only thing she was meant to do, the only thing she was put on this earth for, was to love Ben, to love him with all of her. 

“I love you,” she murmurs. “I love you, Ben, and I’m so sorry for everything.” 

“I’m sorry too,” he whispers. “It was a lot of me too.” 

“You’re—you’re not mad?” she murmurs, drawing back from his neck, looking him in his eyes. “You’re not mad about sophomore year?” 

Ben leans forward, pressing his forehead against hers, and his breath ghosts her lips, and god, she can barely suffocate how badly she wants to kiss him right now. She can barely breathe. “Devi, I forgave you for sophomore year such a long time ago.” 

“How?” She’s utterly baffled. How could he ever forgive her for how callously she had crushed his heart in her grip? She doesn’t think she ever could. 

She can feel his fingers trail down the side of her cheek, and her eyes slip shut, and she thinks she wants to freeze this moment and live in it forever. “Because,” he whispers, “because I love you, and after that, it was easy to forgive you.” 

Devi chokes back the tears, chokes the tears away. “Fuck,” she murmurs. “I’m so sorry.” 

“There’s nothing to apologize for any more, Devi,” he murmurs. “You can stop. I forgive you.” 

Hope is the thing with feathers, but guilt is the albatross hanging around her neck. The cord snaps, the bird falls, and for the first time in two and a half years, she doesn’t feel it hanging around her neck.

“I forgive you,” she murmurs. 

She feels his nose brush hers, for a split second, and then she’s hugging him again. She wants to kiss him, but right now, here, in his arms, everything has changed so much, she needs just another second to breathe, she just needs another moment with him. 

Ben’s arm tightens around her waist, dragging her impossibly closer, and she feels his lips brush against her neck, over and over again in the same motion, his breath ghosting her skin, sending shivers down her spine. It takes her a moment, but she realizes he’s telling her he loves her into her pulse point. 

And suddenly, she’s done waiting. 

Devi pulls away from Ben, and then she leans forward, pressing her lips against his. 

Ben pulls his hand away from her waist and cups her jaw, tilting her head back to kiss her harder. She sighs, melting into him, and then his thumb brushes under her eye, over her cheek, and it is like something in her soul settles into place, clicks into its rightful slot.

It starts in the tips of her toes, the warmth, and then spreads throughout her whole body, flooding her, filling her like the waves fill tide pools. Ben kisses her harder, slanting his mouth over hers with intent, and the kiss deepens, sending her head spinning. Kissing Ben is one of her favorite things to do, and she can feel his love bleeding out in the way he touches her, the way he holds her. 

(he holds her like he has never held her before, like she is a shard of sea glass, something precious and fragile, but not ephemeral. he holds her like she is something cherished, something that has lasted the test of time) 

She feels loved, in his grip, and she wonders how she did not see it for so long, when it is all she can see now. 

Ben kisses her again and again, soft and sweet, pulls the air from her lungs, and god, she loves him, and she feels loved. The way he kisses her makes her feel like she is pure sunshine, piercing through the tree canopy. 

He pulls away, pressing his lips against her jaw, and Devi sighs, digging her fingers into his shoulders. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he says, before kissing her again.

Devi wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him hard, sweeping her tongue into his mouth and tangling it with his. They kiss for what feels like hours, but could also be minutes. Time loses all meaning when she kisses Ben, like they have entered a black hole and undergone time dilation in their little pocket of the universe. 

She pulls back from him when it gets far too difficult to breathe, and then she looks him in the eyes. 

(ben looks at her like she is the only person in the world. he looks at her like every single star lodged in the heavens pales in comparison to her, he looks at her like one looks at an oasis in a desert, like salvation. he looks at her like she is the only thing he ever wants to see for the rest of his life. like she is his lighthouse in a storm, guiding him to safety) 

His eyes are so bright, so blue, it punches the air right out of her lungs. “I love you,” she says, again. 

Ben’s mouth splits wide, a smirk curling over his lips. “Guess you couldn’t stop yourself after all, hmm?” 

Devi knits her brows together. “What?” 

“When we started,” he says, smug. His hand moves from where it’s cupping her cheek to slide down her back, wrapping his arms around her waist and tugging her closer to him. “You said you would be able to stop yourself from falling for me. From where I’m standing,” he murmurs, brushing his nose against hers in an Eskimo kiss, “you couldn’t.” 

Devi whines as he brushes her lips against her, barely, teasing her. “What—what are you talking about?” Her head is spinning, and she’s having trouble focusing on anything other than his mouth, so close to hers, and the overwhelming, nearly devastating desire to kiss him. 

“You love me. You said you could stop yourself from falling in love with me when we started our—contract.” 

“Oh my god,” she groans, pulling away from him to hit her forehead with her hand. “Are you _kidding_ me? You’re bringing that up now?” 

Ben wiggles his eyebrows at her, grinning. “You _love me,”_ he says, mockingly. 

“No, no, I don’t,” she says, rolling her eyes, but the smile playing at her lips betrays her amusement. “I take it back.” 

“Hmm,” he says, before bending down and picking up one of the sheets scattered around them like flower petals. “I don’t think so. You drew me.” 

“Dear god. I’m never gonna live this down, am I?” she sighs. 

Ben looks at the drawing, smirking. “I like it, David. But, I mean, I’d like to actually _know_ when you're drawing me next time. Oh, maybe you could draw me like one of your French girls.” 

“That’s it,” Devi grumbles. “Goodbye.” 

She pulls away from him, but Ben’s hand wraps around her wrist and spins her back around, pressing his lips against hers. He kisses her messy, hard, and she groans, curling her hands around his shoulders and kissing him back. 

Just by kissing her, he can make all of her problems melt away. 

“Sorry,” he breathes. “I like the drawings.” 

Devi scowls at him. “You can’t just kiss me to make me happy with you, you know?” 

Ben pouts. “Well, what’s the point of this otherwise?” 

She smacks him in the chest. “Dick.” 

“Hmm,” he says, dipping his head down to press a quick kiss to her lips. “Who you love.” 

“You love me too,” she points out, and fuck, even just saying those words makes her stomach do a fucking somersault in her chest. 

Ben hums, kissing her cheek. “Yeah, yeah, I do.” 

Devi throws her head back and laughs. “You caved easy, Gross.” 

He leans forward and kisses her throat, and her breath hitches under his mouth. “Do I get a reward for that?” 

“Hmm,” she smirks. “You can start by kissing me again.” 

“A good jumping off point,” he murmurs, and then, he covers her mouth with his. 

Devi throws her arms around his neck and kisses him back slowly. She doesn’t have to rush this, now. 

She has all of the time in the world to kiss him, and just the thought makes her giddy. 

So, she slows down and kisses him, and memorizes the feeling of his hands on her waist. 

* * *

Devi curls up on Ben’s couch, scanning her valedictorian address one more time. Graduation is in two days, and it needs to be _perfect._

She hears soft footsteps come around the corner, and doesn’t even blink when Ben drops a kiss on her head, hand smoothing down her back as he comes to sit next to her. “Hey,” he says. 

“Mmm,” Devi hums, gnawing at her lip as she debates the benefits of using “excellence” versus “merit.” She makes a note in the corner of the page, scanning the words for what feel like the hundredth time. 

“That your valedictorian speech?” Ben says. 

“If you steal my ideas for your salutatory speech, Gross, I’ll castrate you with a butter knife,” she says, dry. 

Ben laughs, kisses her temple. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Plus, I’ve had my address written forever. I just didn’t think I would be giving it _after_ you, of course.” 

“I always knew that was the case,” she drawls, scratching another word out and replacing it. “I’ve had mine written since the seventh grade, so.” 

“I sure hope you’ve worked on it since then,” he smirks. “Although I don’t think your vocabulary would have changed much either.” He kisses her neck, then, hand sliding around to press against her stomach, impossibly hot. 

Devi bites back a smile. “Stop trying to distract me. _Again.”_

He props his chin on her shoulder, glancing at her sheet. “I’m not,” he whines. 

Ben shifts his head and presses his lips to her jaw, and Devi shifts, sighing in contentment as he pulls her closer to him, fingers flexing on her skin. “This is a distraction,” she says. 

“You complaining?” 

“You know you can’t do this just to try to make my valedictory terrible, right? No need to drag me down so that you look better by comparison.” 

“Is that the only reason you think I’m doing this?” he murmurs, pulling the notepad from her hands and pressing her back onto her couch, kissing her cheeks, forehead, nose, every inch of skin on her face. 

“What other reason?” 

“Cause I love you and I want to kiss my girlfriend?” he says, baffled. 

(her stomach explodes with happiness at these words, and she wonders if she will ever get used to them. dear god, she hopes not. she never wants to get used to him saying he loves her. she never wants him to stop saying those words, to stop loving her. it as a certain type of off-kilter she is fine with. she is ok, spinning on a tilted axis, as long as ben spins with her) 

“Fucking sap,” she mutters instead, pulling hard at his hair when he snags her earlobe with his teeth and tugs. She gasps, legs tangling with his as she stretches out on the couch. 

“Honest,” Ben breathes, before leaning down and pressing his lips to hers. 

Devi moans as Ben slants his mouth over hers, hard, hungry, kissing her with intent. Her head spins as his hands wrap around her waist, pressing her flush against him, and she throws her arm around his neck and pulls him closer to her, kissing him harder. 

Ben sweeps his tongue into her mouth, and she loses the ability to breathe as he slots his hands around her legs, wrapping them around his waist firmly. His hands smooth up her legs, over her jean shorts, under her t-shirt to press firmly against her stomach, hotter than magma. Part of her needs to breathe, to take in air, but she can't bear for Ben to stop kissing her. 

Devi shifts under him, pulling her pencil out from underneath her, and Ben drags his mouth from hers to suck marks into her shoulders, along the neckline of her oversized t-shirt. “You know,” he murmurs, scraping his teeth across her collarbone, “I don’t know why you complain about me distracting you.” 

Her eyes roll back into her head as he moves further down her body, sucking and biting at the skin above her breasts, and she gasps when his hands tighten on her hips. “What—what are you talking about?” 

Ben slides his hands up her body, pulling her t-shirt off. “You know what happens when you wear my clothes.” 

“Huh?” 

He raises his head up from her chest to look her in the eyes. “The shirt? It’s mine?” 

Devi blinks at him. “It is?” 

She twists under him to look at the shirt, crumpled on the floor of the living room. “No,” she says. “It’s mine.” 

“Devi,” he says, condescendingly. “I think I would know my own shirt.” 

She reaches up and smacks him on the side of his head. “Ben, it’s a Sherman Oaks t-shirt from freshman year. I know _my shirt_ when I see it.” 

Ben scowls at her. “You’re delusional.” He reaches over and pulls the shirt off the ground, turning it around so she can see the tag, “It’s _mine._ Look, it’s a large.” 

Devi snorts. “What were you doing, wearing larges in ninth grade?” 

“I was jacked even then,” Ben smirks, tossing the shirt back onto the ground. 

She rolls her eyes. “You’re not jacked _now.”_

“Disappointing,” he says, before kissing his way down her body, undoing the button on her jean shorts slowly, fingertips dragging back and forth across her stomach. She tries not to clench her abdominal muscles under his touch, but she can’t—really stop herself, goosebumps erupting as Ben leans down and presses a kiss to just under her navel. “I thought maybe my confession of love would have you be nicer to me.” 

“I think I’m plenty nice to you,” she snorts, lifting her legs as Ben slides her shorts down her legs, pressing kisses to the side of her right leg as he does so. 

“Yeah, right,” he snorts, reaching behind his neck to tug off his shirt and toss it in the general direction of their clothes. 

Devi runs her hands down his chest, curling her hands around his waist and tilting her head back to brush her lips against his for a split second. “I love you,” she says. “There, was that nice enough?” 

“No,” he smirks, eyes dancing. “I think you could be a bit nicer, you know?” 

She reaches up and kisses his throat, sucking at the skin there, dragging her teeth across it gently, and Ben groans, fingers digging into her hips tighter. Devi tosses her leg over his, dragging her lips from the hollow of his throat to his ear, tracing the shell of it with her tongue. He hisses, thumbs pressing into her abdomen _hard_ in retaliation. “Fuck, Devi.” 

“Nice enough for you?” she murmurs, skimming her mouth up his neck to press against his lips once more. 

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Now it’s my turn to be nice to you.” 

“God,” she groans, nails digging into his shoulders tight. 

He starts slow, doesn’t move down her body right away, laying kisses from the curve of her shoulder up to her neck, until he reaches her ear, kissing her earlobe, tickling her, and she wrinkles her nose and bites back a giggle. “Ben,” she laughs. 

Moving down, he lays kisses in the valley of her breasts, down her sternum, under the line of her bra, gently, languidly, _reverently._ “I love you,” he says, lips brushing the skin of her stomach, and her throat wells up with emotion. 

“Really?” she asks, needing him to say it again. 

Methodically, slowly, like an astronomer mapping the skies and finding heaven, his hands trail over her torso, lacerating her body with soft kisses, impossibly careful. 

(he has always been a quick study, most especially when it comes to her) 

“Really.” He kisses her stomach, her chest, every single inch of her body he can reach, over her bra, down the line of her strap. “God, I love you.” Ben reaches down and laces his hand through hers, gently lifting it up so he can trail his mouth down her side, down the underside of her arm, thumb brushing the side of her breast gently, lingering on the stretch of skin there. She feels his hands brush the fabric of her bra up, and then he leans forward and kisses the skin where it had been before, her skin just the slightest bit red. 

Devi sucks in a ragged breath. She grapples for him, trying to find some semblance of control, as he pushes himself further down her body, hands curling around her hips possessively. He still moves carefully, through, almost scientifically, painstakingly sure not to miss even a single inch of skin. “Ben, go faster,” she pleads. 

Her head is tipped up towards his ceiling, so she can’t see when he shakes his head, just feeling his hair brush against her skin. She looks down, eyes locking with his. 

(blue blue blue incandescently radiantly blue eyes that venerate her like she is some ethereal otherworldly being and it’s almost too much and yet not enough because all she wants him to do is look at her like that for the rest of her life and—) 

“No,” he says. 

Devi knits her brows together. “N—no?” It’s not like Ben to refuse her when she asks him for something. 

“No,” Ben repeats. His head dips down and sucks at her skin, a little harder than the kisses he has left, and she gasps, legs locking around his side and hands digging into his back. He sucks at her torso, biting, and Devi groans, trying to resist the urge to buck her hips up into him, to get him to give her _more._ “No, not this time, Devi,” he says. His hands burn like stars on her skin as he slides them around her body, mapping her out over and over again, and she knows he would know her by touch alone in the dark. 

He kisses her navel. “No, this time, I want to worship you.” Each word is punctuated with a kiss, in a straight line up the center of her body, up her sternum, until he’s pressing his mouth against the hollow of her throat. 

She whimpers, moving one hand from his back to curl into the couch cushions, tight. “What?” she gasps, as he moves back down.

Ben’s breath ghosts her hip. “Let me take my time.” 

“You—you haven’t been already?” she chokes out. 

A smile presses against her hip. “Fair enough. Let me continue?” 

She swallows roughly. _“Please.”_

Ben hums against her skin, tongue flicking up to drag against her skin. It’s so slow, and her skin is so sensitized she swears she can feel the dips and valleys on his tongue, swiping against her body, and her thighs tremble, locked around his side.

He grazes his teeth against the line of her bra, then, and she gasps, hips arching up, seeking his, before his hand presses flat against her thigh and gently pushes it back down. “Calm down,” he whispers. “I got you.” 

“More,” is all she says back, tugging on his hair. 

Ben smirks against her navel, sucking more marks into her stomach there, searching and exploring, and her eyes slip shut in contentment, enjoying the scrape of the calluses of his hands against her body and the thick, cloudy drag of his mouth against her skin. 

Ben’s hands curl around her underwear and drag it down her hips, slowly, laying kisses as he does, soft and slow and sweet, thick, like ambrosia spreading through her body. She sighs, eyes fluttering. His mouth is hot against the inside of her thigh, impossibly hot, and her legs shake slightly as his tongue flicks out. 

“Fuck,” she breathes. 

“Talk to me, Devi,” he murmurs. “Come on.” 

His hands skim down her body, curling around her thighs, and she bites back a moan as she feels Ben’s shoulders shift between her legs, settling himself more comfortably between them. “What—what should I say?” 

Ben sucks a mark into the inside of her thigh, slow and methodical, gentle. “Your speech,” he murmurs. He sinks his teeth into her skin, tongue soothing the afflicted skin a moment after. “Recite your speech for me.” 

“My—my speech?” she chokes out, mind spinning. She can’t focus on anything other than the unbearably warm press of his hands against her legs. She can’t think about anything other than the way it feels like her entire body is going to melt right into the couch. 

“I know you’ve had your valedictory speech memorized since you were thirteen, Devi,” he murmurs. “Come on. Tell me.” 

“Now? Are you fucking serious?” 

Ben hums, thumbs pressing into her thighs as his breath ghosts against her, hot, and she wants him so bad she might die, her heart pounding, blood simmering. “If you stop,” he says, “so do I.” 

Devi whimpers, curling her hands into his hair. “Oh—ok.” She swallows roughly, searching for the words she knows. “Ladies and gen—gentlemen,” she starts, hissing when Ben scrapes his teeth over the curve of her thigh, “faculty members, and fellow students, today is—is a celebration and accomplishment for all of us.” 

She keens, tugging at his hair when Ben flattens his tongue against her and flicks up, gasping heavily. “Don’t stop,” he growls. 

“Four—four years of hard work and exams and school days have brought us here,” she continues. She nearly sobs when Ben presses against her harder, his hair brushing against her thighs, and she feels like she’s going to pass out on the couch. 

She stumbles through the next few sentences, her words growing thicker and thicker by the moment, but constant, but then he flicks his tongue over her clit and she breaks, gasping his name. “Fuck, Ben,” she groans. 

He backs off almost instantly, like promised, and she swears. “No,” she sobs. “Please.” 

“Keep going, and I will,” he says, as if he’s done nothing wrong, thumb rubbing easy circles into her thigh, scattering light kisses over the juncture of her torso and leg. 

“Ben,” she cries. 

“Come on, Devi,” he murmurs. He curls his hand around her leg, tossing it over his shoulder so that her calf muscles brush against his back. She can feel the muscles of his back shift as he leans down again, dragging his tongue over her in a pattern that has her clawing at him, gasping for air. 

“Ok, ok,” she agrees. 

Somehow, she stumbles through the rest of her speech, but as she reaches the end her thighs hurt from being tensed up so much, locked around his head and shaking, and she can’t stop pulling at him, covered in sweat, her whole body spiralling towards ecstasy. 

“And—and so we must take all that we’ve learned here at Sherman Oaks and—” she breaks when he licks into her, and she can’t possibly be expected to recite the rest of her speech now, not when it feels like every single cell in her body is turning into lava. 

“Oh, god, god,” she sobs, raking her nails across his scalp. “Harder, go—fuck, _more.”_

“What do you need, Devi?” he murmurs. He swipes his tongue over her, hard, but not enough to get her there, not yet. 

“Ben, I won’t—I won’t beg you,” she chokes out. “Don’t be a dick.” 

“I didn’t ask for that,” he bites out, hands gripping her so tight it feels like all of the air is being squeezed out of her lungs. She rocks against him, desperate, wanting. “I asked what you needed.” 

“You,” she sobs. “Come _on,_ Ben.” 

Instead of answering, Ben just presses his tongue against her, quick, sure, and firm, and she breaks. 

Devi pulls at his hair and cries his name softly, back arching up off the couch as her orgasm crashes over her, potent, dragging her down beneath the sea like riptide. Colors swirl behind her eyes and stars explode, and her thighs tremble around his ears as she sucks in air, lungs burning. “Ben,” she sighs, settling back down. “God, I love you.” 

Ben smirks. “I’m amazing in bed.” 

Devi doesn’t even refute him that. “Just don’t be a dick about it.” Her chest heaves as she breathes, and her whole body feels weak. 

“After you gave me that?” Ben sinks his teeth into her hip, rubbing his thumb over the spot where he bit her. “Nah, I think I will.” 

“Fucking asshole,” she chokes out, moaning when he sucks at the curve of her breast. 

He doesn’t say anything, just kisses her chest as he slides his hands up her body, moving up to suck at her collarbone a little roughly. She’s still wearing her bra, and he doesn’t look like he’s going to take it off. 

Ben hovers over her, kissing her deeply, making her head spin, and she whimpers when he pulls away from her, sliding off the couch and leaving her mostly naked and bereft. “I’ll be right back,” he murmurs, pressing another indulgent kiss to her lips, her head spinning, craving him. 

Devi feels a little exposed as Ben ducks out of the door, but he reappears a second later, holding a foil packet, and he settles himself back over her, kissing her. 

She slides her hands down his back, feelings the muscles ripple as he shifts above her, resisting the urge to sigh into his mouth in bliss, heat spreading through her, the flames licking at her stomach. She unbuttons Ben’s jeans, shoves them down his legs, helps him kick them off the couch. 

Ben pulls away from her mouth and trails kisses to her neck, raking his teeth down her neck before laving at the afflicted skin with his tongue. His hand smoothes down her body and then, suddenly, his grip tightens on her and he flips them over, so she’s on top. 

She scrabbles at his shoulders, steadying herself on top of him, and he grins up at her, smirking. “Smooth, right?” 

Devi shakes her head once she’s able to catch her breath. “You’re ridiculous.” 

Ben slides his hand down her body and rubs at her gently, causing her to buck into him with a soft moan. “Whatever you say,” he murmurs, attaching his hips to the underside of her jaw and sucking gently. 

Her eyes slip shut in bliss. “I do say,” she mumbles. 

“You’re fucking beautiful, you know that?” he says. He shifts her off of him slightly, ripping open the condom packet and rolling it on, and she whimpers as she sinks down on him, eyes fluttering. “So goddamn beautiful,” he groans. “I love you.” 

“Fuck, Ben.” A small, choked off moan escapes her mouth as he snaps his hips up into her, and god, she’s definitely going to pass out from how good it feels. “God,” she grunts, clutching onto him like he’s her lifeline. “More, please, more.” 

“You know,” he says, conversationally, as if he’s not rocking into her, steady and sure, making her whole world shake, spin, colors swirling in front of her eyes, “we still haven’t decided what you want me to call you.” 

“Call me?” she repeats, dumbly, as his hips tighten on her hips, holding her tight enough to leave bruises. “Call—call me when?” 

“Not when,” he corrects, scraping his teeth down her neck, tongue running down the line of her bra strap. “What.” 

Whatever she was going to say breaks off into a choked off, drawn out moan when Ben thrusts into her harder, just enough so make her mind go a little fuzzy. “I, I don’t—” she starts, breaking off with a moan when he scrapes his nails over the small of her back. 

“Pet names, David,” he says, tongue swirling at the curve of her breast. “What pet name should I call you?” 

“You wanna talk about—about this now?” she groans, head tipping back as she gets closer. At this point, she’s sure the only things holding her upright are Ben's hands, their vice-like grip on her hips pleasantly painful. 

“When else?” he smirks. “So, what’ll it be? Darling?” He presses his hand to the small of her back, and she moans. 

“Sweetheart?” A nip to the hollow of her throat. 

“Honey?” He bites down on her earlobe. 

“Pumpkin? Cinnamon? Sugar?” Each word is punctuated with a kiss, languid and soft, a stark contrast to the hard, determined way he’s driving into her right now. 

She shakes her head, half caught in bliss. “I hate those,” she sobs. “Fuck, go harder, come on.” 

She’s so close, she can’t think of anything else, can’t think of anything but the coil tightening in her body, can’t think of anything but chasing that high, getting her release. Her entire body feels like it’s on fire, impossibly hot at the same time. Ben’s hands skim up her spine, dancing along her vertebrae, and she whimpers. His hand moves up further, digging into her hair, cradling her head, and she bites down on his earlobe, looking for something to hold on to. 

“Come on, babe,” he whispers, and she cries out, raking her nails across his shoulders, hard, as the word pools in the pit of her stomach, hot and painful, pushing her impossibly close. 

“Fuck, Ben.” 

He stills for a moment, and she nearly strangles him in frustration. “You like that?” His eyes scan her own, and she struggles to catch her breath. 

“Yeah,” he murmurs, answering his own question. “I know you like that.” 

Ben buries his face in her neck and kisses her throat again. “I love you, Devi. Come on.” 

“Close,” she whispers. “I’m close, Ben.” 

“I’ll get you there,” he promises. “I’m here. Come on, babe, look at me.” 

She pulls away and looks him in the eyes, presses her forehead against his. He leans up and kisses her, hand, and whispers against her mouth, “let go.” 

She does. 

She falls over the edge, tumbling into freefall, and she feels Ben follow her over the edge, pulling her even closer, holding her hand the whole time. Devi buries her face in his neck, tasting sweat there, and she grins against his skin. It’s good to know they’re still good at this even when they _can_ communicate with one another. 

(loving ben is easy because not much changes. he’s still the same guy who will argue with her about her taste in music and insult her intelligence, he’s still the same guy who hates tomatoes and will do anything for her, she can just kiss him now and tell him she loves him, and that makes a hell of a lot of a difference) 

He presses kisses up and down her neck slowly, methodically, and her nails dig into his shoulders, tugging him closer. His hands lace together behind her back, pinkies brushing against the small of her back as his thumbs rub circles into her spine. She doesn’t think she has the ability to move, right now. 

Devi writes letters on his back, her name, his, I love yous over and over again, until she finds the energy to open her eyes and pull back from him. “Well,” she pants. “We still got it.” 

“Fuck yeah we do,” he murmurs, tilting his head up and pressing his lips to hers. “We were never bad at that anyways.” 

Devi stifles a laugh and kisses him back, fingers cupping his jaw. “I mean, I’m amazing at everything, no matter what.” 

“So am I,” he smirks. 

“Good to know,” she says, before kissing him hard enough to forget her own name. 

* * *

“You’re insane,” Devi says. 

Ben scowls at her. “I’m not insane. I’ve lifted you up before.” 

“Yeah,” she points out, hip cocked, “but not like this. You definitely can’t do it for long.” 

Ben winks at her. “I did it for long enough last time.” 

Devi flushes, and he knows she’s thinking about last week against his wall, but she still crosses her arms and tosses her hair over her shoulder, lifting an eyebrow at him. “You definitely can’t do it.” 

“I’m jacked, of course I can.” 

“You’re a skinny fucking twig.” 

“I am not a twig!” he says, offended by the insinuation.

“Uh, yeah, you are.” 

“I could literally lift you up right now,” he fires back. 

“Uh, guys,” Eleanor says, cutting in. “Are we doing this, or not?” 

Ben and Devi exchange a glance. It’s after graduation, and they’re standing around, taking photos with half a million people in their caps and gowns. Devi’s valedictory address had been decent enough—even though he privately held the opinion she got a bit overly emotional at times—and he’d crushed it with his salutatory address. So far, it’s been one of the best days of his life. 

“I’m telling you, David, I can lift you up.” 

“For half a second, maybe,” she snorts, finally relenting. 

“That’s all we need for the photo!” he insists, utterly baffled by how much she’s protesting. “Don’t you want a good photo of this day to commemorate?” 

“A good photo of this day would include me, myself, and the sun, with you behind the camera taking it, Gross,” she says, dry. 

Ben rolls his eyes and hands Eleanor his phone. “Come on, David. You won’t do this for me?” 

She glares at him. “No.” 

Ben steps a little closer to her, widening his eyes just a little bit and drinking her in. “Come on. Please, babe?” 

Devi chews the inside of her lip, but he already knows she’s going to break. She always does. 

“Fine,” Devi groans, adjusting her cap so it perches properly on her head. “Dick.” 

Ben presses a kiss to her cheek. “Love you.” 

“I hate your guts,” she mutters, and then shrieks when he sweeps her off her feet and into his arms, bridal-style. “Give a girl a little warning, wouldn’t you?” she says, tightening her grip around his neck. 

Ben laughs, shaking his head as he looks at her. “What’s the fun in that?” 

“The fun is that you don’t kill me trying to prove that you’re jacked.” She shifts in his arms, glancing over at Eleanor. “You better have been taking photos this whole time, because I’m not sure this guy can hold me for much longer.” 

Ben rolls his eyes. “You’re not heavy. And, like I said, I’m jacked.” 

She groans. “Why do you have to say it like that? We’re not fifteen anymore.” 

“Ok, but it’s still the truest way to say it,” he smirks. 

Devi sighs. “Eleanor, are you done?” 

“Yeah,” Eleanor smirks. “I got a couple of good candids.” 

“Now put me down,” she whines, squirming.

“Not yet,” Ben breathes, before leaning in and pressing his lips to hers. 

Devi lets out a muffled squeak of surprise against his lips, before she kisses him back, smiling. He deepens the kiss for a few more seconds before he pulls away, smirking at the flush on her cheeks and the slightly glazed look in her eyes. “There.” 

He sets her down on the ground, and she blinks at him, still a little dazed, before she shakes her head, huffing. “You’re unbelievable.” 

“I’m your unbelievable boyfriend who got us a great photo for graduation day,” he smirks, pressing his lips to her cheek in a smacking kiss. 

Devi wrinkles her nose and wipes her cheek with the back of her hand. “Don’t slobber on me like that. You’re not a goddamn puppy.” 

Ben pouts dramatically at her. “You wound me, David.” 

“Good.” 

“God,” Eleanor groans. “Why do you guys have to be like this?” 

Ben and Devi exchange a glance as they make their way to the parking lot, headed to Ben’s house to hang out before they all go to some graduation parties later in the day. “Be like what?” 

Eleanor waves a hand at them. “Sickening.” 

Devi knits her brows together. “Didn’t you want us to get together?” 

“Yeah, doesn’t mean I wanted you to make out in front of me 24/7,” she grumbles. “This is a hate crime against single people.” 

“You’re the only single person here, actually, El,” Fabiola points out. 

Ben bites back a smirk at the dark look Eleanor shoots them. “Like I said. Hate crime.” 

“Don’t you think you’re being a little dramatic, Eleanor?” Devi laughs, wrapping her arm around Ben’s and leaning against him. 

“I’m always being dramatic, Ms. Vishwakumar,” Eleanor grumbles. “Doesn’t make me any less truthful. I’m a badass bitch who only spits the facts.” 

“And the facts are?” Ben asks, eyebrow raised. 

“That you guys being all—touchy-feely in front of me should be classified as a hate crime. Especially since I have literally never been more single in my entire life.”

“You can be self-partnered,” Devi suggests. “Like Emma Watson!” 

“Oh shut up,” Eleanor says, but she shoots Devi a wink to say she’s not serious. “I don’t need to be self-partnered, I just need to have a good time.” 

Ben chokes on his own air. “Uh, excuse me?” 

Eleanor climbs into the passenger seat of Ben’s car without any preamble. “You heard what I said, Benjamin. Come on, let’s go.” She slaps the side of his car, examining her nails carefully. 

Devi, Ben, and Fabiola exchange a look. “Huh?” he says. 

Devi just pats him on the cheek quickly, before pressing a kiss there. “Welcome to the world of dating me. I come as a package deal.”

Fabiola smirks. “Yeah, and we all know I’m amazing, so it’s just Eleanor’s dramatics you have to put up with.” 

“I heard that!” Eleanor calls. 

Devi climbs into the backseat with Fabiola, as Ben turns on his car and pulls out of the parking lot. “You’re acting like Ben and Eleanor aren’t equally dramatic,” Fabiola points out. 

Ben’s mouth drops open. “Excuse me, I’m way less dramatic than Eleanor!” 

_“No one_ is as dramatic as me,” Eleanor insists, at the exact same time. 

Ben and Eleanor exchange a glance at the same time, slightly horrified. “Oh, damn,” he breathes. 

Devi rolls her eyes. “You guys are absolutely ridiculous.” 

Eleanor snorts. “You have no business saying that after the shitstorm you and Ben put up this year. The only reason you guys got through that was because of me and my genius capabilities.” 

Ben bites back a smile. God, Eleanor is the funniest fucking person he knows, just by being herself. 

“You and your genius capabilities? What the _fuck?”_ Devi says, sounding so impossibly offended Ben nearly snorts. 

Eleanor frowns. “Fabiola and I literally had to smack some sense into you two so you would fucking talk to one another. I think I should be paid for my services.” 

“Paid for your services?” 

“Yes,” Eleanor says, crossing her arms over her chest. 

Ben catches Devi’s eye in the mirror, and she shakes her head slightly, looking impossibly offended, so much so he has to bite back a smirk. “I can’t believe you,” Devi says, turning back to her best friend. 

Eleanor and Devi squabble the rest of the way to his house, and when they finally pull up in his driveway, Devi’s muttering to herself, fuming as she slams the backseat door behind her. 

Ben lets Eleanor and Fabiola walk ahead of them, wrapping his hand around Devi’s wrist and tugging her back towards him as she grumbles. “What—” 

He cuts her off by pressing his lips to hers, swallowing the rest of her words. 

Devi sighs, carding her hand through his hair as she kisses him back. He drops his cap and presses his hand against the small of her back, drawing her flush against him. Devi presses her hand against his chest and kisses him, soft and sweet, languid. He feels her limbs loosen, relax as she melts into him, arching, gently, and fuck it’s what he wants to feel for the rest of his life, his heart hammering against the palm of her hand. 

Her mouth on his is hot, and makes his heart pound impossibly fast in his chest. God, he loves her, so much, and to get to kiss her and love her and hold her like this is all he has ever really wanted. Ben kisses her more passionately, gently shoving her back towards his car so he can push her up against it and kiss her a bit harder. 

“Ben,” she mumbles, moaning when his hand twists into her hair, eyelashes fluttering against his cheek. “We should—we should probably go in.” 

“No,” he says, words muffled against her mouth. “No, wanna kiss you more.” 

Devi mumbles something back, unintelligible, but she kisses him harder, sweeping her tongue into his mouth, and his head goes dizzy, like it always does when Devi kisses him. Kissing her always makes his head spin, makes his blood simmer, makes his heart feel like it will pound right out of his chest. 

She curls her other hand into his hair, the other hand over his chest digging into his skin, slightly, pulling him close. 

(ben remembers that the laws of matter dictate that two things cannot occupy the same space, that he cannot occupy the same space that devi is in. ben knows science, knows it well, loves studying it, but he does not care for it when it tells him what he cannot do with devi. he will spend the rest of his life trying to feel like he is close enough to her)

Ben tilts his head and kisses her over and over again, and he memorizes everything about this: the soft sighs and moans she bites back, almost inaudible, the way she tastes like cherries, the scent of jasmine, as always, how impossibly soft her hair is in his hands. He could not stop kissing her, not even if he wanted to, and he doesn’t want to. 

Fuck, she’s so addictive. He barely needs a taste of her before he’s hooked, and he’s still looking for more. 

He wants more, and she gives it to him. 

Whenever he breaks away to breathe, she drags him back in, and whenever she does the same, he pulls her back in. He kisses her until he knows his lips will be chapped, until he’s forced to truly stop. He’s not sure how long it’s been, but it’s still not long enough for him. He wants to kiss her for even longer. 

She’s trembling, slightly, in his arms, and he nudges her cheek with his nose, pressing butterfly kisses across her cheek, down to her neck. “Hey, you ok?” 

“Yeah,” she says. “I’m ok.” 

Ben kisses her jaw, her skin impossibly soft underneath his lips. “Ready to go in?” 

“Yeah,” she murmurs. Devi pulls back and looks up at him, eyes locking with his for a moment. 

(god, he loves this girl. he loves her so much, more than he ever imagined loving someone. he loves her in a way that is perfectly unique to her. and he’ll never get tired of the way devi looks at him. devi looks at him the same way he imagines the cosmonauts look at the stars while lifting into space: with love and curiosity, and just a touch of wonder) 

She trails her fingers across his temple, down his cheek, brushing against the line of his jaw. “I love you.” 

He kisses her swiftly. “I love you too.” He lets himself linger against her for a split second more before pulling away, offering his hand to her. 

She takes it. 

Their hands swing between them as they walk into his house, to find Eleanor and Fabiola already sprawled out on the floor of his living room. “Wow,” he says, dry. “Make yourself at home.” 

“We got tired waiting for you guys to stop making out,” Eleanor calls over, not even taking her eyes off the screen, where her favorite movie, _Some Kind Of Wonderful,_ is playing. 

“You know,” Devi says, flopping down on his couch, unzipping her gown and taking it off to toss it over the arm, “I’d be more offended if that wasn’t true.” 

“I’d hope you be offended any time Eleanor calls us out, David,” he grumbles, pulling off his own gown and dropping it next to hers, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. 

Devi kicks off her heels and curls up on the couch next to him as they watch Keith and Watts climb into bed together. “Nah,” she says, smirking at him. “We’re pretty good at making out, don’t you think?” 

“That we are,” he smirks, dropping a kiss on her forehead. “One of my more underrated skills, I think.” 

“Definitely underrated,” Devi nods seriously, playing along. 

“Stop flirting in front of me, Jesus fucking Christ,” Eleanor grumbles. 

“You’re the one who wanted us to get together, El,” he points out. “So, in a way, this is all kind of your fault. Take responsibility for your actions.” 

“I regret my actions.” 

“No you don’t,” Fabiola snorts. “You told me if you had to watch the two of them stumble around for another ten seconds, you would tear your hair out and commit double homicide.” 

“I still might do both of those things.” Eleanor smirks. “Peace and quiet, then.” 

“You know, you think _after_ they started dating, they would have bickered less, but no, it’s the exact opposite.” 

Ben blinks. “You know we’re right here?” 

“Oh, I thought we were speaking too low. Come on Fab, drag ‘em.” 

“You guys are such mean friends.” Devi tucks herself more securely into his side, her hair brushing his nose, hand sliding around his waist to press against his hip. “Why are we friends with you?” 

“Because we help you two get your shit together when no one else can,” Eleanor says. “Now shut up. I want to watch the movie.” 

Fabiola snorts. “Or at least just make out quietly.” 

“So rude to us,” Ben mutters. 

Devi wiggles her eyebrows at him. ‘We _could_ just make out quietly. I’m pretty well versed in all kinds of making out.” 

“Really?” he drawls. “I never would have guessed.” 

She laughs quietly, pressing a silent kiss to his jaw. “I’ve got a lot of secrets you don’t know about.” Her eyes sparkle as she laughs at him, and god, he loves her so much. 

“A lot of secrets, hmm?” He leans in and kisses her hard, hard enough to make her head spin, but quickly, pulling away a half second later. “Can I convince you to show me a few?” 

She throws her head back and laughs, and it reminds him of a rocket, heading towards liftoff. The explosion of the gas, ignited by a single spark. Devi’s laugh is the spark that ignites an explosion in his systems. It spreads pure energy throughout him. 

(he could hear her laugh for the rest of his life. it is like an atomic bomb, but one that gives rather than destroys. ben thinks of the quote oppenheimer stole from the gita, _i am become death, destroyer of worlds._ a fatalistic quote, but fitting. when devi laughs, she wreaks havoc on his systems, havoc only she can repair. she is a wildfire, a kind of destruction that gives new life)

“You’re going to have to work harder than that, if you want me to show you a few of my tricks.” Devi smirks, kissing his neck. “I don’t just show them to anyone.” 

“Oh, so now I’m anyone?” Ben points out, stupidly, disproportionately insulted. 

Devi laughs, pressing her lips together to stave off a smile. “You know what, Ben? No, you’re not just anyone. You’re a complete dick.” 

Ben shakes his head. “My friends and my girlfriend are both so mean to me,” he mutters, half to himself. “I need to spend my time around nicer people.” 

Devi stares at him, deadpan. “No, you don’t. You’re a jackass. Nicer people would kick you out in a heartbeat.” 

She’s right, of course, but he doesn’t need her to know that, so he just scowls at her. “Well, at least they would be nice to me before they kicked me out.” 

“Ok, but would you rather have someone be fake nice to you, or real mean to you? At least we’re honest with you about how much of a dick you are.” 

“Fake nice,” he answers immediately. 

She smacks him in the chest. “Ben! Seriously?” 

“No,” he laughs. “Of course not. But I’m just saying. A guy could use the ego boost every now and again.” 

Devi snorts, shaking her head. “God, I hate you.” 

“I hate you too,” he says, tracing circles up and down her arm. She shifts her head on his shoulder, just letting her lips skim his jawline. 

“I’m a badass bitch without tolerance for bullshit, and somehow, you made me tolerate you. What other ego boosts do you need?” 

“Hmm,” he says, smirking at her. Devi’s eyes glint, slightly sharp in the light. 

(he could look at her for the rest of his life, and never get tired of it, he thinks. there’s more discovery to be done in her eyes, more exploration in her irises, than in the whole universe) 

“You, me, the piano again?” he grins, smirking at her. Devi’s cheeks flush pink, and she smacks him again, although she’s not that mad, he can tell. 

“Pervert.” 

“Nope. Just got a hot girlfriend.” 

“Hmm.” She presses another kiss to his jaw, firmer this time. “Tell me, Gross, how hot is this girlfriend of yours?” 

“Really hot.” He slides his hand down her arm to brush over her legs, the back of her calves, skimming her skin with his nails, feather light. “Not that smart, though.” 

Devi rolls her eyes. “God, you just never miss a chance, do you?” 

“Would I be me if I did?” 

“You’d be a better you if you did,” she shoots back. 

“Yeah, but this is the me you fell in love with, so I don’t think I’ll be changing anything about myself any time soon.” 

She rolls her eyes, but doesn’t refute his point, and he can’t help the small ember of happiness that glows in his stomach, ever present. 

(sometimes it is an ember, how he feels about devi, and then at other times, it is a forest fire. it is even lava, at other times, but it is always, always warm, and it is always, always there) 

Devi lifts her head up and kisses him, soft and sweet. He kisses her back, chaste, champagne bubble happiness popping in his veins. “I did,” she breathes, as she pulls away. “I did fall in love with this you. Reckless of me, huh?” 

“Well,” Ben says, dropping another kiss on her cheek, and then another, and then another, all over her face, as light and soft as the touch of a butterfly’s wing. “You always have been insanely reckless, David.” 

“I thought you hated that about me.” 

“Nope,” he murmurs. “How could I? It brought you here.” 

“Oh,” she says, softly. When he looks at her, her eyes are bright with emotion. 

Only Devi, really, makes him feel this much. It’s a conflagration of emotions, a million things. He doesn’t hate it, because it’s her, and because he’s completely, head over heels in love with her. Not to mention, he knows he makes her feel the same way, so, really, they’re on equal footing here. 

“Yeah,” he whispers back. 

She smiles at him, bright and wide. It is graduation, and he doesn’t think he will ever be this happy again, but this is _Devi._ Every moment with her is good. 

He realizes, in this moment, that that’s what love is. A collection of ever-increasing lovely moments. Every moment spent with Devi is better than the last. 

“I love you.” 

He leans forward and skims his lips against hers. It’s not even a kiss, just the touch of his lips against hers for a split second, fleeting and fantastic and beautiful. He has the chance to give her a thousand more of them. “I love you too.” 

Contentment ebbs off of her like the tide as she melts further into the couch. She kisses his jaw. “So,” she says, smiling pressed into his skin. “I rocked your world?” 

The question is so unexpected it knocks him off his axis, sending him a bit off-kilter. “What?” he says, instinctively, furrowing his brow, before he realizes what she’s talking about. “Oh my _god,”_ Ben groans, leaning back against the couch. “You’re still on that?” 

“Did I?” she says, quirking an eyebrow at him. 

Ben laughs, pulls her closer to him, dropping a kiss on her hairline. She leans into his touch the slightest bit, trusting and soft and gentle. He decides that all he can be is honest. “Yeah, Devi. You did.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i normally don't ask for comments, but i would really, really appreciate if you told me how you liked this multichap. i've never tried something like this before, so i'd really like to know what you guys thought, on how i wrote this. come talk to me about the show! you can find me on tumblr: @[parkersedith](https://parkersedith.tumblr.com)

**Author's Note:**

> your comments and kudos make me happier than devi beating ben! come talk to me about the show!! you can find me on tumblr: @[parkersedith](https://parkersedith.tumblr.com)


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